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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24941368">Take a Letter, Miss Kenobi</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>And angst, Ben is Reysexual, Boss Ben, Boss/Employee Relationship, Daddy Kink, Dominant Ben Solo, Dominant Rey, Dominant Rose Tico, During marital estrangement, Explicit depiction of vintage clothing, F/M, Friends to Lovers, HEA, Hapless Armitage Hux, Multi, On the cusp of something, Rey seduces Ben through wearing vintage clothing, Reylo - of course, Rocking Valentino, Rose’s HEA, Some bad language, Terms of contract, That darned cat, Thirsty Ben (if she did but know it), Thirsty Rey, Thirsty Rose, Trouble In Paradise, and showing her stocking tops, cat pregnancy, cat shenanigans, cat thoughts, cat typical attitudes, cat-centric themes, christmas &amp; new year, mention of infidelity, secretary rey, total fluff and nonsense</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:42:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>26,927</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24941368</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Armitage Hux/Rose Tico, C-3PO - Relationship, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>75</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>164</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He hadn’t really noticed her figure when he’d employed her, blown away by her looks ... except for her tits just asking to be liberated from the tight sweater she was wearing, the nipples made to stand to attention when he ran a thumb over them while massaging her pert breasts with his large, warm hands ... oh, and her peachy ass as she turned to walk out his office, emphasised by the tailored dress pants she was wearing  ... and, of course, her long, shapely legs, which could surely easily wrap themselves around even his he-man sized waist.</p><p>No, he hadn’t noticed her hot bod, <i>not-at-all</i>.</p><p>That state of affairs soon changed.</p><p>She had a two week rolling office wardrobe; he’d soon figured that out. One for autumn/winter, which he hated - all thick tights and sturdy boots and oversized sweaters - and one for spring/summer.</p><p>She was wearing spring/summer now.</p><p>He liked spring/summer because she put together cute little outfits. Like the vintage tweed suit she‘d worn in early spring; the skirt of which was mid-calf with a cute little kick pleat. Demure you may say, schoolmarmish even, but he knew better. He knew what she wore underneath - stockings, seamed stockings, and a white lace garter belt.</p><p>This knowledge would cause him to combust, he was sure, if he dwelt on it.</p><p>He’d come across her by accident one day in the lunch room, her leg angled, resting on the toe of an elegant two-tone shoe, (also vintage), while she checked the back seam of her stocking, skirt hem raised high above her knee.</p><p>It was said only women with perfect legs could wear seamed stockings, otherwise they showed up every fault of nature.</p><p>Miss Kenobi’s legs wore them faultlessly, ergo she had perfect legs.</p><p>She was aware of the effect she had on him by this time, and didn’t pull down her skirt as she ought to. No, the little tease pulled her skirt up a little more, revealing her stocking tops, the stockings themselves held up by the white lace straps of a garter belt and exposing a sliver of the smooth, tanned thigh above them. What lay above that he was interested to know.</p><p>He had growled and surged toward her intending to find out, only to be stopped in his tracks by that jackass Dameron coming into the lunch room, gushing forth his usual crass bonhomie, ‘Benny! <i>benny-benny-ben-ben’.</i></p><p>Remind him why he didn’t fire him? Right, his mother wouldn’t let him.</p><p>By this time Miss Kenobi had let down her skirt and was smoothing it down over her hips, pulling down and adjusting her belted jacket which had also ridden up, and he had remembered he was CEO of Solo Air Freight Services and must not, therefore, ravish Miss Kenobi, his personal assistant and so much more, over one of the lunch tables.</p><p>His bulk had hidden Miss Kenobi from Poe Dameron’s probing eyes, always on the lookout for the chance to carry tales of Ben to his mother, while she adjusted her clothing. Which was a good thing as Ben Solo was now jealously proprietorial over Miss Kenobi’s person. Indeed, he couldn’t account for his actions had Dameron caught even a glimpse of Rey’s stocking tops; the fact Dameron was rampantly gay was beside the point.</p><p>He had staked his claim early on, shooing away the pilots who popped by with the flimsiest of excuses to drape themselves across her desk, leering down and drooling over her perfect proportions. Especially when she wore the peach satin bra with the mocha coloured lace embellishment on the cups, exposed when she moved as her blouse was buttoned too low.</p><p>She’d made it herself, she once told him, when she knew she had him on a leash, and the cami knickers to go with it. He’d googled cami knickers when she left his office and then indulged himself imagining her standing before him in said bra and knickers, wearing high heels and carrying a notebook and pencil to take dictation.</p><p>He’d had to walk twice around the airfield after he got fixated on that image to calm himself down. There was no other cure, for it would be a desecration to take himself in hand, giving in to his <i>imaginings</i>. Miss Kenobi’s person, Miss Kenobi’s very soul, was now sacred to him. </p><p>He was so screwed.</p><p>Every now and then she slotted in a new outfit. Like today.</p><p>They’d walked together from the car park and he managed to stay one pace behind her to admire the view. This look was severe, a Puritan Miss on her way to service, she lacked only a bible in her hand. Dressed head to toe in black she was, with a broad white lace collar worn over her tight sweater. Her skirt was tight too, a deep pleat at the side concealing a split.</p><p>He’d spotted the split as she’d got out the car. It had parted exposing to his lustful gaze yards of nylon encased legs.</p><p>She’d grinned at him when she saw him looking, “Well, good morning, Mr. Solo. Enjoying the view?” He ought to fire her he thought, for insubordination in a public place, that or bend her over the hood of his car and have his wicked way with her - his preferred option. He felt his ears heat up, caught perving on his secretary at 8 a.m. and no doubt relentlessly checking her out throughout the day when he should be concentrating on work.</p><p>“Miss Kenobi,” he’d muttered instead, casting furtively around to make sure they were unobserved. He’d slowed down his steps so she got ahead, deliberately swaying her ass, aware she’d got his undivided attention. The minx.</p><p>Yeah, his day went pretty much as anticipated, so in the end he closed his office door, drew the blinds and counted down from one hundred in order to get his mindset established. He could do this.</p><p>It was remarkable the amount of work he could get through without Miss Kenobi’s distracting figure in his eye line. There was hope yet.</p><p>The working day was drawing to a close when he heard voices outside his office where Rey’s desk was situated, his chief mechanic Rose Tico, and her sidekick Finn Storm if he wasn’t mistaken, and a new, male voice he was unfamiliar with. He pushed his hair back behind his ears and concentrated, he had the hearing of a fox.</p><p>He couldn’t make out Miss Kenobi’s voice at first, and then he could. It was raised in pitch and sounded upset. He carefully pushed his chair back and trod to his office door; for such a big man he could move quietly when he chose. Stealthily he cracked open the door.</p><p>“Rose,” he heard Rey’s voice, “please, respect my decision. I’m not interested in dating anyone.”</p><p>“Oh, come on, sweetheart,” the strange man’s voice was cajoling, Ben ground his teeth, “you’re not interested in dating because you haven’t dated <i>me</i>!”</p><p>Ben’s fists clenched.</p><p>“Yeah, come on, Rey,” Rose was urging, “the last time you did anything socially was New Year’s Eve at the works party and soon it will be Easter. You hide yourself away after work and that isn’t good for you.”</p><p>“Rose,” Rey’s voice was low and tight, she was getting upset, Ben knew, “I ask you one more time, take your friend and go. I’m not interested.”</p><p>“Yeah, Rose. Perhaps we should leave Rey alone, you know.”</p><p>At last, thought Ben grimly, Finn Storm was backing Rey up, too little, too late.</p><p>“Butt out, Finn,” Rose’s tone was dismissive, “don’t forget who’s boss here.”</p><p>“A smart observation, Miss Tico, and don’t <i>you</i> forget who‘s your boss.”</p><p>Ben trod out his office to find the usual suspects standing before Rey’s desk and a handsome blonde man sitting on it, leering at his personal assistant. Rey’s cheeks were now flushed and her eyes were stormy in expression, her whole posture telegraphed discomfort and anger.</p><p>“And as for you, asshole, move away from Miss Kenobi and start walking.”</p><p>“Who are you to tell me what to do?” Blondie switched to belligerent, standing up and squaring his shoulders.</p><p>“Apart from the guy who’s gonna punch you into next week? I’ll show you who I am. Rey come here.”</p><p>To everyone’s amazement, apart from Ben, the feisty Miss Kenobi stood up and hastened to Mr. Solo’s side and was pulled into his embrace.</p><p>He looked down at her, his face unrecognisably tender to at least two of the onlookers, “It’s time,” he spoke softly to her. She clutched at the lapels of his jacket, “Ben, are you sure?” “Never more so,” he replied.”</p><p>She gazed up at him, her eyes beseechingly searching his face. Reassured by what she saw, she nodded. He placed a loving kiss on her hair as she snuggled against him. Miss Tico and Mr. Storm shifted uneasily, blondie looking on out of his depth.</p><p>Ben reached delicately under the collar of Miss Kenobi’s sweater with a thumb and forefinger, drawing out a long gold chain from which dangled a gold wedding band. Miss Tico’s jaw dropped, Mr. Storm looked as though he was going to throw up. Blondie started to edge toward the door.</p><p>“Give me your hand, sweetheart.”</p><p>Miss Kenobi unlatched her left arm from around Mr. Solo, raising her hand to him. It was seen to be trembling.</p><p>Carefully, Mr. Solo detached the wedding band and slipped it onto Miss Kenobi’s ring finger. They both gazed at it; an expression which could only be described as beatific on their faces.</p><p>Miss Kenobi broke the spell, raising her face to Mr. Solo’s and softly inviting, “You may kiss the bride.”</p><p>Mr. Solo was swift to act, crushing Miss Kenobi’s form and lips against his. Blondie disappeared through the doorway, Miss Tico and Mr. Storm were not so sagacious.</p><p>Miss Kenobi having been thoroughly kissed, Mr. Solo raised his head and balefully regarded the two remaining interlopers out of narrowed eyes.</p><p>“Clearly,” he began, “I don’t have enough work to keep you both in gainful employment. Which of you do I fire, eh?” He looked at Miss Tico, “I would suggest you, Miss Tico. Perhaps you ought to open a dating service instead, except you’re so piss poor at it. A little less busy in other people’s affairs, if you please.”</p><p>Miss Tico nodded, for once lost for words.</p><p>“Dismissed.” Ben’s voice rapped out like a drill sergeant’s. The hapless pair scuttled for the door.</p><p>Ben looked down upon soft brown hair tucked under his chin and lifted his wife’s face to his, seeing her tremulous smile, her eyes moist with tears which needed only a little prompting to shed.</p><p>“Hey, hey,” he chided softly.</p><p>They fell then and he put up a hand to capture them as they rolled down her cheeks. Her skin was soft and dewy against his calloused fingers.</p><p>“I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m both happy and fearful at the same time.”</p><p>He was busy drinking down her tears, chasing after them as they tried to escape, capturing them on his fingers and kissing them off the back of his hand when they dripped down. They were of a most precious sort, coming from her heart.</p><p>She gave a self-conscious laugh seeing him so occupied and went to dash them away. He batted off her sacrilegious hands, instead pressing his lips to her cheeks and capturing them with his mouth and tongue.</p><p>“Ben,” her tone was softly scolding, chuckling at his foolishness.</p><p>“Lady,” he murmured capturing her lips properly. She wept no more, laid against his breast feeling the timpani of his heart beating against her hand pressed against it.</p><p>Its steady rhythm would comfort her her whole life, she thought, and she must synchronise her own to beat with it. If it should ever stop ... she shuddered and pushed away that hideous thought. The arms around her tightened and there was a comforting rumble above her, “Relax, sweetheart, I’ve got this.”</p><p>She settled, pressing both her hands, now burrowed under his jacket, firmer against his back, feeling his body heat through his shirt and finding comfort there.</p><p>+++++</p><p>They took a Friday flyer, the open road before them, his wife’s hand tucked under his thigh, heading for his parents. It was a road not often travelled, his relationship with his folks being difficult - problematic. Now, though, they had a daughter and he needed to get her to them before Dameron preempted him in one of his long, gossipy phone calls to his mother.</p><p>His wife was nervous, the hand resting in her lap periodically clenching its fingers, and intermittently fluttering upwards to nervously touch her face and hair. As they drew to the outskirts of where he’d grown up, he began to distract her by pointing out landmarks, attaching, if he could, an anecdote or two. She settled. He was aware her head was turned toward him, listening intently.</p><p>She loved to hear his voice she had told him, and when they were cosy at home she liked nothing better than to stretch out on their couch with him, in the apartment whose sleek, stark lines she had softened.</p><p>Plants proliferated now, and cushion covers she had made in bright colours to offset the black leather and grey and white decor. There were hand knitted lace throws too, knitted with fine merino yarn, so delicate yet so cosy when snuggled into, as they did on movie night.</p><p>At her request he would read aloud random passages from the book or newspaper he was perusing, her socked feet pressed against his thigh, pausing in her knitting or sewing to listen intently. Then her questions or comments would flow; his own opinion sought and given. </p><p>Such intellectual stimulation would inevitably bring about physical stimulation, as his heart overflowed with love for her, his most prized possession, and he would waltz her off to bed just as he had on New Year’s Eve three months ago at the works party, marrying her on Valentine’s.</p><p>She had been fretting over what to wear and pack for this visit to his folks. Turning out the entirety of her closet, casting each rejected piece on their bed, her wardrobe of mostly pre-loved, vintage and handmade clothing suddenly deemed not nearly smart enough to meet Leia Organa.</p><p>He’d soothed her worries, reassured her that her clothes were good enough, and anyway, no one would notice being too occupied of thinking she was too good for him.</p><p>She’d laughed at his nonsense, which gave him scope to put his hands on her, and then his lips, and he’d soon changed her disbeliving giggles into moans. Her exasperated, “Oh, Ben’s!” into gasps of, <i>”Oh, Ben.”</i>, making love to her on top of the garment bestrewn bed.</p><p>Holding her in his arms afterwards, he told her truths about his family, her lips making ‘oh’s’ of surprise and shock. So moved had she been, that when they at last rose from their tryst, she didn’t scold at the sight of the crushed garments or over the Dior vintage little black dress he had managed to spill their essences on.</p><p>His arm was now around her waist, his hand splayed across her stomach, ringing the doorbell of his parents’ house. Light could be glimpsed at the back of the house, his mother must be pottering in the kitchen; Han goodness knows where.</p><p>Lights were switched on as someone progressed to the front door. His mother stared down at them disbelievingly at where they stood in the pool of light cast by the security light, her glasses pushed back onto the top of her head. “Ben?” she said, tentatively. He felt satisfaction, Dameron hadn’t yet discovered his secret and called ahead.</p><p>“Mother.”</p><p>Her eyes drifted to Rey, he could see her battling for recall of the beauty in his arms.</p><p>He could hear the shrill trill of a phone start up from within the house, “Mother,” he said, seeing his mother’s attention distracted, her head turning away from them, “this is Rey, my wife, your daughter.”</p><p>Leia’s head snapped round, “Your wife?” He had her full attention now. He felt Rey shrink against him. The phone stopped ringing and his mother was galvanised into action, stumbling down the steps in her haste, her arms reaching out for Rey, who he pushed into his mother’s embrace.</p><p>“Oh, my dear. Oh, I have a daughter. Oh, where’s Han? That pesky man is never around when you need him. Come in, dear. When were you married? Where did you meet. Oh, I’ve such a lot of questions. Han, Han, get your ass down here, we have a daughter.” This last bit was bellowed out. It always amazed him how such a strident voice could reside in such a diminutive body. He trod over the threshold, forgotten, carefully locking the front door. The phone began to ring again.</p><p>“What’s up, princess?” Han ambled in, scratching his neck.</p><p>“Han, we have a daughter. This is Rey, Ben’s wife.”</p><p>As Han advanced to hug Rey, his mother swore, “That bloody phone. Can’t people take a hint?” It was ringing for the third time. His mother stomped to the kitchen, picked up the receiver and then cradled the handset of the wall mounted phone, immediately scuttling back to Han and Rey so as not to miss a thing.</p><p>He stood back, observing the delight his parents were expressing; the shedding by his wife of a few sparkling tears of gratitude. He wanted to surge forward and capture them, but restrained himself. His parents simultaneously putting their arms around her in a group hug.</p><p>The phone began ringing again.</p><p>Swearing, Leia released her hold on Rey, and scuttled back to the kitchen to ...  “Take the damn thing off the hook.”</p><p>“Yes, hello,” he heard her say. Then, “Oh, Poe.”</p><p>He felt his lips tighten. The kitchen phone had a twenty foot cable on it, to enable his mother to negotiate the kitchen whilst chatting nineteen to the dozen, the handset tucked between cheek and shoulder.</p><p>“I swear,” he thought, “if she neglects Rey for that jackass, this is the last she’ll see of the both of us.”</p><p>“Look,” his mother was saying, “I’m too busy to speak to you now. Yes, yes, I’m sure you have important news. I’ll call you back.” With that she hung up and then balanced the handset on top of the keypad so it couldn’t ring again.</p><p>“Wow,” he thought, “that’s new,” observing his mother once more scuttling back to Han and Rey, determined to have her say.</p><p>She never did ring Dameron back, not the whole of the three days they stayed over. </p><p>His hopes rose, perhaps he could fire that jackass some day soon.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. New Beginnings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I’ve had this sitting on my hard drive and was going to add to it, but as I may be out of action for a little while — and I have no self-control — here it is. I will add to this at some point.</p>
<p>ps: I’ve updated the rating</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When the firm offer from Solo Air Freight Services came through, she did pause and reflect on the wisdom of working for a hot boss whose mere presence caused such a distinct disturbance in her underwear. However, less than five minutes’ reflection restored her rationality.</p>
<p>Come on, in what universe would Ben Solo even entertain making a move on Miss Rey Kenobi? She would be on the end of a very long queue, headed by trust funded princesses.</p>
<p>She allowed herself a few moments’ wistful daydreaming, and then snapped into her future <i>‘Miss Kenobi personal assistant to Mr. Solo’</i> persona.</p>
<p>This version of Miss Kenobi would turn up for work wearing permafrost(ed) panties, and her eyes would never drop lower than Mr. Solo’s neckline. Most definitely not on the shirt buttons straining from the third button down, surely the last bastion against exposure of a ripped upper body. No, not-at-all. Or, lower down, on the package concealed in Mr. Solo’s pants. No sir, it would be unthinkable.</p>
<p>Acceptance of terms sent and a start date agreed, she found there was a flaw in her plan. Mr. Solo had full, pouty lips, and as she was determined not to lower her gaze in contemplation of his (possibly) hot bod and (undoubtably) large manhood, she began to speculate on what those lips would be like to kiss. Speculation became borderline obsession. </p>
<p>Primly, she reined in her thoughts, reenergised her thawing undergarments, and got on with the job.</p>
<p>She’d come out of a long, dry spell and found, courtesy of her employment, that she’d gone from famine to feast: a long line of pilots sitting on her desk or cornering her in the lunchroom, bombarding her with offers of dates or weekends away. Strangely, she found them easy to rebuff although some of them were very much to her taste. There was no understanding it.</p>
<p>Of course, Mr. Solo made it easier to turn down any and all offers. Inevitably, his looming presence would make itself known, glaring at her would be beau’s and subjecting them to an exacting interrogation as to how they proposed, being on his dime, to spend the rest of their day. Also inevitably, they would slink off, cowed, Mr. Solo’s scowl hastening them on their way.</p>
<p>That was also the second flaw in her plan: concentrating her eyes on Mr. Solo’s features. </p>
<p>Mr. Solo, when he scowled, brows snapping together, bottom lip jutting out belligerently, the soft waves of his dark hair falling forward on his face as he frowned down from his six foot three height on lesser persons, his brow wrinkling, looked as hot as fuck.</p>
<p>Miss Kenobi would find herself squirming in her seat, trying to dial down her inner thermostat and clamp her lips together so as not to inadvertently call Mr. Solo <i>’Daddy’</i>.</p>
<p>She went down that particular rabbit hole when, and only when, she was safely at home, vibrator clutched tightly in her hot little hand, her imagination unfettered and free.</p>
<p>Shortly after starting at Solo Air Freight Services, a tolerable autumn gave way to the first of winter’s blasts. Miss Kenobi, used to sweltering heat, caved in and abandoned dress pants, and pencil skirts and heels, and turned up for work in thick ribbed tights and boots, and chunky hand knit sweaters with layers of thermal underwear underneath.</p>
<p>The ops building where she worked had automatic doors which faced the airfield. These were constantly opening and shutting and it felt as though someone was chucking bucketfuls of arctic air in through them, which travelled down the short corridor where Mr. Solo’s office was located and made Miss Kenobi shiver - not in a good way.</p>
<p>This change in wardrobe seemed to coincide with a change in Mr. Solo’s mood. Gone was the soft, appreciative look in his eyes, the daily shy audit of her person she had become used to and which played havoc with her resolve. Now he looked doleful all the time, shuffling past her desk with a sigh tacked onto his ‘Good morning, Miss Kenobi’, and shutting himself away.</p>
<p>There was no understanding it, unless he hated winter too? Miss Kenobi made sure to be extra nice to him and anticipate his need for fresh brewed mugs of black coffee to fortify him throughout the day.</p>
<p>How long this state of affairs would have gone on, who knew. However, the festive season brought about a change.</p>
<p>Miss Kenobi lived a way out of town (cheaper rents), and so did little socialising with her work colleagues; a few outings on a Friday for after work drinks with the lively Miss Rose Tico being the sum of it. Miss Tico was chief aircraft technician, a fiery dot of a woman used to bossing about her crew of male underlings. Less a female and more a force of nature.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, Miss Tico lived way over the opposite side to where Miss Kenobi was domiciled, so a close girl friendship was unlikely to develop. Miss Kenobi, however, spent Christmas with the Tico’s, once Miss Tico realised Miss Kenobi was an orphan and had no family to spend it with, and enjoyed herself very much.</p>
<p>Returning to work between Christmas and New Year, Mr. Solo made sure to inquire she would be at the New Years Eve party.</p>
<p>This was an prestigious annual event hosted by Mr. Solo, Miss Tico had confided, lavish in its hospitality. An invitation not just to the employees of Solo Air Freight Services but its clients too, and numerous other well connected persons.</p>
<p>It was a hot ticket; for, Miss Tico told a wide eyed Miss Kenobi over lunch one day, Mr. Solo was the son of Senator Leia Organa and therefore practically royalty. In fact, Mr. Solo’s maternal grandmother had been a queen, or something like it. Mr. Solo could definitely call himself Prince Benjamin if he so wished.</p>
<p>Any dreams Miss Kenobi had had that one day Mr. Solo might, <i>might</i> ever look upon her kindly and ask her out on a date withered on the vine, and she perceived what a sad, foolish child she had been.</p>
<p>Swallowing her disappointment and chagrin, Miss Kenobi resolved that New Year’s Eve would be when she broke her duck and got herself a nice, uncomplicated hook up. Mr. Solo excepted, obviously.</p>
<p>Working out the last time she’d had sex exposed her deficiency in math. Surely it hadn’t been that long? Miss Kenobi put away her phone and refused to dwell.</p>
<p>To that end in her clutch, as she sallied forth in vintage Valentino, was a condom. To her annoyance, she’d accidentally purchased magnum sized. What had she been thinking? Well, if that didn’t complicate matters, it being too late to exchange.</p>
<p>Her resolve was somewhat compromised by Mr. Solo driving her to the venue. This had come about through his solicitous inquiry and not through any doing of hers. Hearing she’d take an Uber, he insisted he’d drive her - after all she only lived around the block from him. This was patently untrue, but she allowed it. She had often fantasised about driving Mr. Solo’s car, but would settle for a place in the passenger seat. </p>
<p>Anyway, to sit in such a luxurious vehicle would concentrate her mind on how unworthy she was to even think of having her wicked way with someone so obviously, stratospherically, out of her league.</p>
<p>The sight of Mr. Solo casually leaning against his car as she exited her building, arms folded across his chest and waiting patiently like he was her boyfriend for real, tested her self-control. She wanted to sashay over to him and press her body against his, going up on tiptoe balanced on one leg as she kissed him, like the women did in the ad’s for expensive French perfume when they greeted their lover’s.</p>
<p>Of course, that would be totally inappropriate, so she stopped smiling mistily up at him, and squeaked, “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting, Mr. Solo. Thank you so much for the offer of a ride.”</p>
<p>“No problem, Rey, and for the purpose of this evening please call me Ben.”</p>
<p>His voice was deep and molten with promise, as were his eyes. She shivered - not with the cold.</p>
<p>This galvanised him into action, opening the passenger door wide, “Here, Rey, jump in. What was I thinking?”</p>
<p>Miss Kenobi, having more than enough thoughts for the both of them, tottered toward the inviting interior with its plush red leather seats and walnut trim, and gathered up the length of her evening coat and dress and slid in. The door closed with a dull click.</p>
<p>Mr. Solo’s ... Ben’s car was like being in a capsule. The build of it ensured there was very little road noise, the seat a cocoon to nestle in. The engine emitted a dull throb when stationary and a muted roar when the accelerator was depressed - initially briefly pressing her against the seat with its quick and powerful acceleration from a standing start before switching to a soothing, smooth glide.</p>
<p>Ben drove stick, and it was both fascinating and wonderful to watch the transitioning of those big hands between steering wheel and gear shift.</p>
<p>They parked before the hotel entrance, Ben ordering her to “Wait up.” This was so he could walk around to the passenger side and open the door for her, putting out his hand so she could exit the car gracefully. His fingers were warm as they clasped hers, drawing her into his body by dint of putting his free hand against her back.</p>
<p>He turned them and and walked them up the steps to the concierge, a valet closing the passenger door and scuttling around to slide into the driver’s side to park. Rey marvelled at Ben’s insouciance, the self-assurance he didn’t need to acknowledge the service of others. That’s because he’s old money, her consciousness acknowledged. She chose not to pursue the implications of that observation.</p>
<p>An immaculately attired doorman waited to greet them. Thick grey overcoat trimmed with gold piping on the collar and sleeves, and a cockaded top hat and white gloves. He greeted Ben, not with polite uniformity, but with a note of real warmth in his voice. Ben knew his name because he used it, adding an inquiry about the doorman’s wife and eldest boy, not long gone to college. A prideful answer was given and the door held open for them, but not before Ben had asked for his particular regards to be conveyed to the man’s wife.</p>
<p>Clearly, Mr. Solo belonged to this world. She felt again, that sense of insecurity which caused her stomach to drop away. She ought to have stayed at home, ordered takeout and watched the festivities on tv.</p>
<p>As they walked into the plush hotel together, Miss Kenobi clutched her clutch with both hands, the red silk covered receptacle pressed tightly against her breast so she didn’t, as she had instinctively wanted to, hold Mr. Solo’s hand. Well, wasn’t she a walking embarrassment? She had to get away from Mr. Solo’s disturbing presence as soon as.</p>
<p>Slipping her long black velvet evening coat from her shoulders, shawl collared, the work of her own hands, Mr. Solo doing the honours, her long, red silk evening gown was revealed in all its glory. With spaghetti straps which crossed at the back, she was of necessity, irrefutably, braless.</p>
<p>As the dress was unlined except for the bust, and it being cut on the bias, it clung to her curves such as they were - so she wasn’t wearing underwear either.</p>
<p>Of course, Mr. Solo was unaware of that fact. Good job, too, he already looked as if his mind were blown. She simpered and fluffed up her hair, confidence restored. Yup, tonight was the night. Maybe she should have packed two condoms?</p>
<p>Mr. Solo was wearing a lounge suit under his cashmere overcoat, bespoke by the look of the cut. Black, of course, with a white shirt, the buttons straining as usual to contain the expanse of his chest, and a black tie. Absentmindedly, she reached out and straightened this, trailing a smoothing hand down Mr. Solo’s shirtfront afterwards.</p>
<p>She blinked, reconnecting with earth, did Mr. Solo just growl?</p>
<p>Blushing, she made a little sound that could have been interpreted as ‘sorry’, and headed at speed for the ballroom.</p>
<p>Mr. Solo fell in by her side, a large, warm hand affixing itself to the small of her back, transmitting a burning heat through the thin silk.</p>
<p>This made her uncomfortable, not the fact of his large, warm hand pressing so near to bare flesh, her bare flesh, but that people (other men people) may think that they were a couple. Which they were not. Absolutely not. Inconceivably not. </p>
<p>She quickened her pace, Mr. Solo’s long legs easily matching her hurrying steps.</p>
<p>So far, the interior of the hotel had projected a luxurious, intimate atmosphere, which curled around one as a cocoon. Now, standing on the threshold of the ballroom, deep plush carpets and highly polished brass, dark hardwood doors and panelling, intimately lit, gave way to a high ceiling and dazzling chandeliers. Underfoot was a sprung dance floor, with tables each seating six persons arranged around its edge.</p>
<p>The tables were dressed with bright, white damask tablecloths upon which reposed discreet floral arrangements, gleaming silverware and glinting crystal glasses. The settings were white porcelain, gilded around the rim, stamped with the hotel’s adopted coat of arms and Latin motto. The whole thing was redolent of old money.</p>
<p>Suddenly, Miss Kenobi’s sole ambition, to get laid, lay exposed before her, a shrivelled, worthless thing. Horny, penniless orphans weren’t welcome within such hallowed halls as this, they didn’t belong, no matter the vintage, couture dress she was wearing - gotten from a flea market and lovingly curated to its former glory. Her whole instinct said, <i>run</i>!</p>
<p>To this end she prepared to do just that, except Mr. Solo’s hand increased its pressure and propelled her forward, her heels tapping across the dance floor, feeling the spring of it through the thin soles of her red silk shoes. It was like walking on a cushion of air. No going back to the safety of her apartment now.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Terms of Contract</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Toot sweet. Because Rey is British, she murders the French language. She means to say Tout de Suite = with haste.</p><p> </p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The perception she was out of her depth was reaffirmed as they trod further into the ballroom, Mr. Solo still steering her forward. There were a fair few people there already, sipping champagne served by waiters in crisply laundered, short, double-breasted white jackets, with black pants and black bow ties.</p><p>Mr. Solo was manoeuvring her toward one of the tables when a cry of “Ben!” went up, two maybe three female voices raised excitedly. Two young blonde women were approaching them at a rate of knots, their heels clicking staccato against the wooden floor. Immediately his name was called out, Mr. Solo dropped his hand from against her lower back. Abandoning her.</p><p>Both women sent a flickering glance her way, instantly dismissive, and proceeded to ignore her, all their attention given to Mr. Solo. They were soon joined by male companions and other, older persons. Rey gradually retreated from Mr. Solo’s side, in increments, unnoticed. A glaring omission in her <i>toilette</i> immediately evident.</p><p>The Valentino dress was as lovely as the day it had been made and she had every confidence in it; it would make over $2,000 easily if she put it on one of the auction sites, and she had accessorised it perfectly. However, she was wearing not a single scrap of jewellery for the simple reason she didn’t possess any. Well, none that would go with this dress.</p><p>It was obvious why these well-heeled people could afford to ignore her, for they wore around their necks and wrists, and in their ears, visible evidence of their wealth. Compared with them, she was deficient. It was this awareness that made her feel naked and exposed in such company, not her lack of lingerie.</p><p>Quietly, she backed away from the crowd gathering around Mr. Solo, his hand now being shaken by other well-dressed men, his cheeks kissed by their well-dressed women, the voices about him a cacophony of well-wishing and inquiry about his well-being and that of his famous mother. As she retreated, the vacuum she created was quickly filled and Mr. Solo disappeared from view apart from sight of his head twisting this way and that, answering questions and returning greetings. Mr. Solo was unmissable, even in a crowd.</p><p>She was walking with intent toward the ballroom doors, painted white on the interior, the bevelled glass panels reflecting shards of rainbow tinted light, a continuous stream of people pushing through them chattering happily, when she was intercepted by a tall, elegant blonde man.</p><p>That he was an employee of the hotel was not immediately obvious, his suit was a good one, though without the cachet of being bespoke, but a pin was placed in his left lapel bearing the hotel’s logo.</p><p>“Pardon me, Miss,” he bowed, full of grace and old world charm, “but Mr. Solo asked me to direct you to his table, but perhaps you would like to see the auction items first, Mr. Solo being temporarily detained?”</p><p>At this, he lifted a hand and a waiter appeared before her with a single flute of champagne on a small silver dish. It was handed to her and she instinctively took a sip. The tiny bubbles exploded on her tongue releasing a creamy mousse. She gave an involuntary hum of appreciation as the wine waiter withdrew. Her companion looked pleased.</p><p>“Mr. Solo ordered vintage Veuve Cliquot for his table and instructions that you were to have the first glass.”</p><p>Her eyes widened with astonishment, but before she could comment he lifted his hand again and another waiter appeared before her with a tray of canapés. This had her full attention; maybe she could stick around for a little while longer, say hello to Rose at least.</p><p>As she munched and sipped, the tall gentleman introduced himself as Cyril, the maître d’ of the hotel. She tucked her clutch under her arm, transferred her champagne glass to her left hand and stuck out her right to shake his, mumbling, “Rey Kenobi, Cyril. Pleased to meet you,” as she swallowed down the last of the tasty morsel she had been chewing on. Goodness, could she get any more gauche?</p><p>Cyril gave a little half bow and murmured back, “And I you, Miss Kenobi.” He seemed to be enjoying a private joke judging by the smile hovering on his thin lips. Before she could speculate, he was moving her toward a well-lit side room where the evening’s auction items were artfully displayed.</p><p>As she perused them, Cyril explained that Mr. Solo’s grandmother had been a great philanthropist, her daughter following in her footsteps and also taking public office in order to effect change. Mr. Solo had adored his grandmother, and revived her tradition of a charitable New Year ball when he took over Solo Air Freight from his parents.</p><p>Padmé Amidala had been a very great lady, Cyril spoke her name reverently, and her daughter too likewise.</p><p>Rey nodded and continued to peruse, and eat and sip, stopping before a gold sunray pendant on an exquisite gold chain. Now if she had something like that around her neck maybe she wouldn’t feel so exposed.</p><p>Noticing her absorption in the item, so much so she had paused her munching, Cyril asked, “Will you be bidding on that later, Miss Kenobi?”</p><p>Rey gave a short laugh and flashed her wide smile at him, “I think it’s safe to say, Cyril, I will <i>not</i> be bidding on this item, lovely though it is.”</p><p>He nodded, unperturbed by her vehemence. “If I may say so, Miss Kenobi, it would go beautifully with your dress. Valentino, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Why, yes, it is.” She couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice. “Was that a lucky guess or did you know?”</p><p>“My mistress, that is to say the late queen, was very fond of fashion. She wore Valentino on numerous occasions, and I was privileged to serve her and therefore saw them all.”</p><p>He gave a little bow as he spoke, and for the first time she noticed the silver at his temples, blending in with the golden blonde. Just how old was Cyril? Before she had chance to make inquiry, a presence made itself felt on her other side. Judging by the warmth of that presence and the scent of its cologne, it was Mr. Solo.</p><p>Sure enough, his low rumble sounded, “Seen something you like, sweetheart?”</p><p>She turned to him, ignoring the fluttering in her stomach and depressing any thoughts his manner of greeting may have instantaneously provoked, (her thoughts having caused her present predicament), “Oh, just doing a little window shopping.”</p><p>The traitorous Cyril piped up from beside her other elbow.</p><p>“Miss Kenobi was just admiring the sunray pendant, and why would she not, Master Ben, it being by a London designer and Miss from London too?</p><p>I was just remarking how wonderfully it would go with Miss Kenobi’s dress. It’s Valentino, you know, just as your lady grandmother used to wear.</p><p>Of course, it stands on its own merit, just look at how the silk shimmers as it catches the light, but Miss Kenobi isn’t wearing a scrap of jewellery, not a scrap, and wouldn’t it be wonderful if someone bought her this to complete her look?”</p><p>He hummed thoughtfully, determined it seemed to thoroughly embarrass the penniless orphan currently standing rigid with mortification before him.</p><p>She was sure Mr. Solo was looking her over appraisingly, not that she’d know, she staring straight ahead at the wall in front of her and wanting to disappear down a convenient crack in the floorboards.</p><p>Mr. Solo’s reply rumbled through the room, “Indeed it would. As always, you have it right, Cyril. What would we do without you?”</p><p>She caught sight of Cyril’s small bow in her peripheral vision, “It’s a privilege to serve the family, sir, in any capacity called upon.”</p><p>Ok, that was it, before she choked on any more <i>noblesse oblige</i> she was outta here. She tipped the last of the champagne down her gullet and set the glass down with a snap on the tabletop in front of her.</p><p>“Was that the Veuve Cliquot I ordered?” Mr. Solo was addressing Cyril over her head, humming with satisfaction on being told that it was.</p><p>Ok, she was gonna be polite and bid them both farewell, <i>auf wiedersehen</i>, goodbye. Then she was gonna totter to the coat check and collect her coat, and then she was gonna request the concierge to call her a ride, hell a rickshaw would do, anything to blow this joint. Then she was gonna slip into her jim-jams, the flannelette ones she’d bought herself for Christmas, and her fuzzy socks. Then she was gonna switch on her tv and finish off the bottle of Sauvignon blanc currently residing in her fridge, and then she was gonna eat an <i>enormous</i> amount of candy.</p><p>She was <i>not</i> gonna cry into her wine. She was <i>not</i> gonna wipe the snotty nose that she always got after she <i>howled</i> with the sleeve of her new jim-jams. After, she <i>was</i> gonna collapse in her bed hugging Eddy the Teddy to her chest for comfort, and she most definitely <i>was</i> gonna revise her CV New Year’s Day and go job hunting, just as far and as fast as she could from Solo Air Freight Services. Then she was gonna take an irrevocable vow of chastity, ‘cos look where her unclean thoughts about Mr. Solo had gotten her. </p><p>The glass of vintage champagne must have slowed her reflexes down, that and the quarter tray of canapés she had wolfed down, now lying comfortably in her belly, because Mr. Solo’s large, warm hand was again pressed against the small of her back and she was being herded back into the ballroom and toward one of the tables.</p><p>Mr. Solo constituted an irresistible force all on his own, with Cyril riding courteous and solicitous shotgun, pulling out her chair and making sure she was sitting comfortably before pouring her a second glass of champagne.</p><p>It was wonderful to be looked after so attentively; another flute magically put before her, the bottle extracted from a silver ice bucket positioned on the stand placed at her left elbow, a linen napkin folded lovingly around its neck so as not to defile the pristine damask tablecloth as the precious, biscuit coloured nectar was poured out.</p><p>He then bowed and left, but not before Mr. Solo’s hand had pressed a hand to her shoulder, leaning down and saying in low voice, “I apologise, but I have to get the party started, sweetheart. I’ll be back shortly.”</p><p>You see, this is why she looked at every dollar before she spent it. How much had they paid for this vintage champagne, huh? Because they’d thrown good money away to buy something that was ... hallucinogenic, that was the word, ‘cos she could have sworn Mr. Solo just called her sweetheart again. Thank goodness she would be outta here any minute now.</p><p>Watching Mr. Solo’s retreating broad back, her beady eye alighted on the unmistakable figure of Miss Rose Tico.</p><p>Scraping back her chair, she made her way over to the diminutive figure, dressed in a silvery blue strapless evening gown, her hair let down in lustrous waves tumbled over her shoulders. Something was occupying Miss Tico’s undivided attention as she startled a little as Rey came alongside her with a quietly uttered, “Hi, Rose.”</p><p>The champagne flute Miss Tico held startled too, spilling a little of the treacherous over-priced brew. “Oh, hi, Rey,” Miss Tico seemed distracted. They exchanged air kisses and complimented each other’s gowns.</p><p>“What you looking at, Rose?” Miss Kenobi inquired, for Rose’s laser vision had returned to whatever she’d been contemplating before Miss Kenobi’s arrival. Miss Tico’s answer was swift and succinct, as always.</p><p>“That hot piece of ass over there.”</p><p>Miss Kenobi followed the direction of Miss Tico’s pointer finger, discreetly lifting from her champagne flute, her other arm lying relaxed across her midriff. She clearly was on the prowl, her prey selected. The only person Rey recognised was Armitage Hux, Solo Air Freight’s freelance financial advisor. Miss Kenobi’s brows drew together, “Do you mean Mr. Hux?”</p><p>“Armie,” corrected Miss Tico, “I’ve been trying to get into his pants for the best part of a year, and tonight he’s mine.”</p><p>That Mr. Hux was aware of Miss Tico’s scrutiny was soon evident, for he periodically turned his head from the female he was speaking with and cast shy glances Miss Tico’s way, a faint blush lending colour to his pasty cheeks.</p><p>“I’ve booked a room here,” Miss Tico continued, “took most of my Xmas bonus, but the hell, he’s worth it.”</p><p>Miss Kenobi took another look at the tall pasty faced accountant. Clearly Miss Tico was besotted. Still, his hair wasn’t plastered down as usual; in fact he had floppy hair, like Hugh Grant in his early films. Who knew?</p><p>“Got myself seated next to him, too. Yeah, eyes on me, Armie.” Mr. Hux had just stolen another glance at Miss Tico.</p><p>“Um, I’m not feeling all that great, actually, Rose.” Miss Kenobi at once captured  Miss Tico’s full attention. “Really, you look ok? A bit flushed maybe.”</p><p>“Well, it could be flu. Maybe.” Miss Kenobi was a poor liar. “So I’m just off home, see you in the New Year?”</p><p>“Ok, I’ll call you tomorrow. You got a ride home?” Miss Kenobi lied to her friend again.</p><p>Miss Tico may have dug a little deeper except that at the instant Miss Kenobi was making her excuses, Mr. Hux excused himself from his conversation with the unknown woman, Miss Tico’s unsuspecting love rival, and began to hesitantly make his way in Miss Tico’s direction, a hank of ginger hair falling adorably across his high forehead.</p><p>“That’s right, baby boy,” breathed Miss Tico, her posture adjusting to make herself appear taller, “come to Mama.”</p><p>“Bye, Rose,” muttered Miss Kenobi. “Sure, see you later,” mouthed a distracted Miss Tico. Miss Kenobi gave it up, and trailed disconsolately back to her table to retrieve her clutch and drag herself home to watch Netflix and indulge her sweet tooth.</p><p>Cyril was standing by Mr. Solo’s table, having just seated four other people, very important people judging by their reaction to her when she was introduced as Mr. Solo’s personal assistant. Their faces froze and they simply stopped speaking to her.</p><p>Pissed off with this elitist crowd, she would have let fly with words, maybe even her fists if the man got mouthy, but the soothing, unflappable presence of Cyril calmed her down. She went to pick up her clutch just as the mic burst into life, Mr. Solo began his address to the folks gathered bidding them to, please, take their seats and the evening’s celebrations could begin.</p><p>She had her chance to run, in the melee of folks taking their seats and finding their places, except Cyril was in the way and she couldn’t seem to make her wishes understood; until only three persons in the room were standing and only one of them was wearing a red couture evening gown. </p><p>Cyril drew out her chair invitingly and she took it, slightly red faced, her stick-up-their-asses table companions determined to so not notice the train wreck personified embarrassment they had been saddled with.</p><p>Ok, she’d figure something out; but then Ben was back and dinner was served and Miss Kenobi liked to eat. Mr. Solo’s attention being claimed by the snooty folks from the right side of the tracks, Miss Kenobi was free to indulge herself.</p><p>The first course was some kind of fish in a sauce. Miss Kenobi didn’t think she was going to like it, but the sauce was as smooth as a velvet jock strap, and the fish was delicate of flavour and melted in the mouth. Miss Kenobi bagged seconds.</p><p>There was a short pause before second course was served and Miss Kenobi cleaned her palate with a glass of iced water, the champagne having been found by her to be well dodgy.</p><p>No attention being paid to her at-all, she gave a happy sigh and patted her stomach reassuringly. Mama was in the saddle; eating was one of the things she did best.</p><p>The second course was beef wrapped in pastry with a rich gravy. Miss Kenobi gave a little whimper as the dish containing sauté potatoes was removed far too quickly. It reappeared in her line of sight and a generous third spoonful was added to the crisp golden pile already there. “Yum,” she sighed blissfully, digging in.</p><p>Sorbet was declined, she was saving herself she confided to the waiter, seeing his lips twitch appreciatively. However, much to the outrage of Miss Kenobi, dessert was delayed until the stupid auction was begun. Miss Kenobi was intending to demolish her dessert <i>toot sweet</i> and then leg it.</p><p>Mr. Solo was back on stage and encouraging everyone to bid generously, all monies raised going to three charities; each a worthy cause. The auctioneer was appointed to great cheering, another stick-up-the-ass individual sneered the cynical Miss Kenobi.</p><p>The lights were dimmed, a spotlight on the auctioneer, and the bidding began, Miss Kenobi’s dessert was placed before her in a timely manner. Did it seem her portion of pudding was a little bigger than those cut for the others. Miss Kenobi flashed her waiter a beaming smile.</p><p>She had behaved very well throughout the meal, but the chocolate something melting on her tongue drew an orgasmic moan from her. The four stick-up-their-asses turned up their noses, outraged. Mr. Solo shifted in his seat. Miss Kenobi lowered her head over her plate and put herself on mute - with difficulty, she was a girl who liked to be loud (as far as she could remember).</p><p>Soon her plate was scraped clean, the stick-up-their-asses paying more attention to the auction than their dessert plates. She licked her lips and contemplated larceny. A large pale hand entered her field of vision. It took her good-as-licked-clean plate and deposited a (mostly) untouched dessert in front of her acquisitive nose.</p><p>Shyly glancing up at Mr. Solo, she gave him a cheeky grin. Although he kept a straight face, his eyes twinkled; he had guessed her evil intent, she was sure. The unexpected bounty was swiftly demolished.</p><p>Coffee was served, Miss Kenobi excepted. She’d ordered tea.</p><p>As the waiter put the teacup in front of her, he whispered in her ear, “There’s a spare dessert going begging if you’d like it ma’am.”</p><p>She turned her face toward him, “Are you sure,” she whispered, “it won’t put you in the wrong?” “No, ma’am, it was Cyril himself who suggested it.” “Well, in that case ...” she whispered back giving him her wide smile.</p><p>He lifted his head still gazing down at her, something like affection in his eyes. Then his eyes lifted and he looked beyond her his face becoming mask-like, turning and heading for the kitchens. Turning herself, Miss Kenobi intercepted Mr. Solo’s <i>’daddy’</i> frown. Wait, was Mr. Solo jealous? Of her waiter? Nope, not going to go there, those sort of thoughts brought nothing but trouble.</p><p>As she sipped her tea, she listened with detached interest to the bidding; it kept her from speculating on other things. She fully engaged at mention of the sunray pendant, sitting up straight and turning toward the stage. There was an opening bid of $3,000 on the books. A counter bid was made.</p><p>Miss Kenobi caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Mr. Solo had taken out his phone. Aware of her scrutiny, he stood and walked to the back of the ballroom tapping away. A work issue, she supposed, there was a flight going out tomorrow late.</p><p>Co-incidentally, her waiter came with her extra helping of dessert. She smiled up at him and mouthed, “Thank you.” He gave an abrupt nod and returned to the kitchens. One of the stick-up-my-asses caught her eye, her lip curled contemptuously before she hastily turned away as Miss Kenobi had crossed her eyes and pouted her lips like a fish, a gross out trick learned young.</p><p>Turning her attention back to the auction, there had been a flurry of counter-bids. The pendant finally peaking at $4,500, about double what it was worth.</p><p>Miss Kenobi felt a pang. How lovely to have someone bid for a wife or sweetheart; prepared to pay over the odds for a trinket that would please a lover. Rose would win Armie in such a way, she just knew, if she decided to keep him. She sighed, that would never happen to her, given how her life had played out so far.</p><p>The auction was winding up, the sum raised announced to great cheering and the live band introduced. As the chords of the first song sounded, there was a general exodus from the tables to the dance floor. Miss Kenobi sat alone, along with a few other wallflowers scattered throughout the ballroom.</p><p>Ok, this was sad making and doing nothing for her self-esteem. Leaving her pudding untouched Miss Kenobi made her way to the ladies powder room to pee and then get the hell outta here.</p><p>Bladder relieved, faint chocolate stains removed from around her mouth and lipstick renewed, Miss Kenobi took a deep, cleansing breath and exited the bathroom intending to head for the coat room, dessert (regretfully) abandoned.</p><p>As she stepped into the passageway, Mr. Solo peeled himself from off of the wall he’d been leaning his shoulders against, arms crossed, in a pose so reminiscent of a patiently waiting boyfriend. She felt a lump start in her throat.</p><p>“Mr. Solo,” she squeaked. “Rey,” he answered, his deep voice relaxed, a tinge of amusement in it as he claimed what seemed to have become his rightful place, the small of her back, with his large, warm hand. He guided Miss Kenobi back to the ballroom, she biting her lip, wanting to stay, but shouldn’t she go?</p><p>As they gained the dance floor he murmured, “With your permission,” and swung her into hold. Her only reply was another surprised squeak. Oh, boy, there was more than one reason she was unfit for present company.</p><p>She did actually know how to do this sort of dancing, truly. It’s just that being clamped against Mr Solo’s chest was distracting and it seemed she had grown two left feet, pecking and stumbling until he was almost dragging her around the dance floor.</p><p>“I’ve neglected you, I am aware,” the rumble of his voice startled her out of contemplation of her dancing deficiencies. “It’s just that hosting these things brings responsibilities, and an obligation to schmoose and glad-hand, especially when you’re trying to raise money for charity. I wanted you to enjoy yourself and not worry about working the New Year, you work hard enough already. Have you enjoyed yourself?”</p><p>There was such a hopeful note in his voice, she knew he’d be hurt if she told him how she really felt, so she stuck with a noncommittal, “It’s lovely.”</p><p>“I’m glad you liked it. This place holds a lot of happy memories for me, my grandmother used to bring me here for tea dances - she taught me to dance - and she and grandfather came here a lot too, after they were reconciled.”</p><p>She didn’t know what to say to this either, so said, “Oh.”</p><p>Absentmindedly, she noticed her feet had sorted themselves out and they were dancing in perfect synch.</p><p>“Although I wish we’d come here just the two of us, just Ben and Rey,” he added, continuing. “Have I told you how very beautiful you look? Probably not, I’m not good with compliments, but you do. In that dress, with your hair and makeup, you outshine every woman here.”</p><p>Was he hitting on her? Was she pleased or annoyed?</p><p>Tartly, she replied, “I wouldn’t have thought you had difficulty getting women, Mr. Solo.”</p><p>“Oh, I don’t, at least not for sex,” the absolute ass holding her in his arms replied, “but a relationship, how to start a love affair with a beautiful woman who is too good for me, that’s a big ask.”</p><p>It was one of those jaw dropping moments in life, she thought. A debate whether what she was hearing was an insult or a compliment. She peered up at him. His eyes, those pretty dark eyes, were filled with self-doubt and hopefulness, and ... desire.</p><p>She swallowed. “Mr. Solo, could you explain the meaning of what you just said. If you are sincere, please spell it out for me, because I too am a novice in the art of love.”</p><p>Way to go Kenobi, you’ve lit the fuse now, she scolded. Why not continue to plead ignorance? Now stand back and wait for it all to blow up in your face. Why was this her life?</p><p>If it were possible, he held her the tighter at her words, his hand sliding down to her derrière, pressing her more snugly against him.</p><p>Well, she was feeling it now, that not so concealed weapon he packed daily. A corresponding stab of desire went through her. She should be scared, this could go so very, very, pear-shaped, but suddenly she knew herself. She’d settle for one night, fulfil the boss/employee cliché, then she’d walk away head held high - because this was for her.</p><p>His reply, when it came, surprised her.</p><p>“I want to take you home, Miss Kenobi. To my home. I want to take you to my bed and ravish you. The morning after, I want to cook you breakfast and go for a walk in the park, hand-in-hand. I want to take you back to my apartment and ravish you all over again before cooking you dinner. I want to see you naked, that hot little bod of yours splayed out on my bed. I want to see you in my clothes, wandering barefoot through my apartment, my own ray of sunshine to light up the dark and dismal corners of my life. I want that every day, rinse and repeat, for the rest of our lives - and in the in-between we’ll do our jobs and raise a family,” he gave a careless shrug of his shoulders while adding this addendum.</p><p>Wow, she’d just experienced another jaw-dropping moment, two in the space of a few minutes. Who would have thought it possible?</p><p>She cleared her throat, “Would I be correct in assuming you’ve given this some thought, Mr. Solo?”</p><p>“Ben,” he corrected her. “Every single day, sweetheart, since the second you walked into my office.”</p><p>“Oh,” she got out, for his intensity was almost overwhelming.</p><p>Of course, he couldn’t be either sincere or serious in what he’d just said, she rationalised. It was all part of the ploy to get her into bed.</p><p>Aha, little did he know she was getting him into her bed - although they’d be using his bed to do the deed, obviously.</p><p>Win, win, she thought exultingly; for once in her life in full control of her destiny.</p><p>She raised her eyes, “Ok, Ben, you’re on. Deal.”</p><p>His grip on her tightened, a possessive look on his face. She bethought herself of one more detail.</p><p>“Ben, could you frown for me, please.”</p><p>He looked down at her, puzzled, brows drawing together, forehead wrinkling. Close enough.</p><p>She peeped up at him through lowered lashes, pouting provocatively, “It’s just that I’ve always wanted to call you <i>Daddy.</i></p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. New Year’s Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you to everyone who left a kind word and/or a kudo.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was wonderful to wake up as though cushioned by a fluffy cloud, floating almost, muscle and bone completely relaxed. She snuggled further down into the soft pillows, blissed out.</p><p>How often did a feeling like this come about? Not often, that’s for sure. Well, she was going to ride this train ‘til it stopped, there being no work today.</p><p>Hardly had she made this resolve when her stomach started an insistent rumbling. “Quiet you,” she murmured, eyes still closed, irritated. Eventually her bladder added pressure, making it a necessity to get out of bed.</p><p>Sighing, she rolled onto her back for a lovely big yawn and a stretch, opening her eyes at the apogee, toes straining daintily southwards, fingers wriggling at the end of her outstretched arms.</p><p>“Oh, bugger.” The expletive reverberated around the room, uttered in a crisp, English accent - she was still in her boss’s apartment, naked, in his bed.</p><p>She rapidly sat up, clutching the bedclothes against her bare breasts, the boisterous activities of the night before flashing, scene by scene, through her mind.</p><p>Firstly, Mr. Solo waltzing her through the ballroom doors, helpfully held open by Cyril, and down the thickly carpeted hallway until he pressed her into a dark alcove and kissed her. Had she really said, “Wotcha got, big boy?” tauntingly, before he had <i>devoured</i> her.</p><p>Miss Kenobi began to hyperventilate.</p><p>Ok, ok, the best thing to do was to pull on her dress and shoes, snatch up her clutch and coat, and tiptoe quietly out of her boss’s apartment and get the hell out of Dodge.</p><p>Her eyes scanned the carpeted floor in search of dress and heels, passing quickly over the spot where she had let her dress pool down at her feet and invited Mr. Solo to, “Come and get it, daddy.” And, boy, he had. He totally had. There was no sign of these essential outer garments.</p><p>She cast back the sheet and comforter, hopping out of bed, feeling a little sore between her legs and with dried stickiness adhering to her inner thighs. Her essences, as Mr. Solo had used condoms - the first one supplied courtesy of Miss Kenobi.</p><p>She flushed with mortification at the remembrance. She had been markedly uninhibited. Why hadn’t she swigged down that second glass of champagne, enabling her to put all the blame on that?</p><p>She moved swiftly over the thick carpet and made it to the bathroom undisturbed, locking the door behind her.</p><p>Sure peeing gave a little burn, but it was pleasurable too, courtesy of the multiple orgasms Mr. Solo’s truly gifted mouth and dick had bestowed. As she wiped herself and flushed, she recalled demanding five consecutive orgasms the first time - he had obliged with three. Had she really marked down his performance, telling him it was a <i>work on</i> as she’d stumbled to the bathroom on unsteady legs to pee, leaving him panting with effort; propped on one elbow as he watched her go.</p><p>If she’d looked back as she blithely skipped to pee, possibly she would have seen his face darken and his eyes become molten pools, certainly that was his look at she exited the bathroom, scooping her up and taking her back to bed with a wolfish grin.</p><p>She could see it now, as she made use of his moisturiser and a cotton pad to clean off her panda eyes where her mascara had run, she ought to have reined in her neck and not challenged him.</p><p>Okay, it had only been two months in his employ, but it wasn’t hard to figure he was a competitive and dominating personality. She should have just peed, said thank you and goodnight and gone on her merry way, but, no, her thirst had gotten the better of her.</p><p>She made use of another cotton pad as she removed the lipstick stain from her upper lip and chin, where his lips had mashed down upon hers smearing the meticulously applied colour onto both their faces. Oh, please, don’t let the coat check girl gossip, or the valet in front of whom he had crushed her against his car for one last demanding kiss before they drove off.</p><p>She’d messed up his hair though. Whatever product he used to tame its soft waves she had wrecked in the alcove, pulling his hair so hard he’d growled and thrust a thigh between her legs.</p><p>You know, she needed to be neutered, really she did; alley cat didn’t nearly cover it. Thank goodness this was a one time thing, this exploration of her dark side.</p><p>She was examining a shelf of soft fluffy white towels. Goodness, his apartment more resembled a boutique hotel, what she’d seen of it. She pulled a towel from the bottom of the pile having figured they were graduated according to size; largest at the bottom. She rolled her eyes, pretentious much.</p><p>Sure enough, it was bath sized, but Mr. Solo bath sized, which meant it was sheet sized on Miss Kenobi. Boy, was it nice against her skin as she wrapped it around her and secured it. She eyed the shower speculatively. Space age was the phrase that came to mind. Her eyes switched to the tub. By the time she filled that thing it would be early afternoon - by the way, what time was it? No, focus. Find dress and shoes, then coat and purse, and then leg it with the scent of her illicit depravity upon her.</p><p>Exiting the bathroom, she cast about for clues as to where he’d put her things. In this endeavour she was interrupted by the sound of a heavy tread. Letting out a squeak of fright, she made for the bed, jumping in and wrapping herself in virtue ensuring bamboo bed sheets, because no way, José, was she available for further extracurricular activities. No, sir, she was a good girl now. A reformed character, just wait and see, living a life of self-imposed penance.</p><p>He came into the bedroom carrying two mugs from which steam rose, bare-chested and barefoot but, thankfully, dressed in low cut jeans. She felt herself flush from head to toe, and it felt like little men in spiked shoes were running up and down her spine. She squirmed uncomfortably. Damn hormones.</p><p>His face lit up when he saw she was awake, setting down the mugs on the nightstand and leaning over to kiss her “good morning, sweetheart.”She automatically put her hand over her mouth, not that she didn’t want his kisses, but, morning breath ... he took her hand away and kissed her anyway. His own breath was minty and clean.</p><p>Handing her her mug, filled with tea, he sat beside her on the bed’s edge; she budging up to make more room, eyes lowered in contemplation of her breakfast cuppa and not the pale, muscular expanse of his chest.</p><p>“You slept late,” his voice was thicker and deeper than normal. She answered with a hum of acknowledgement, eyes still cast down.</p><p>“I’ll fish out some clothes for you,” he continued, “shower’s through there, as you probably know, then I’ll cook breakfast.”</p><p>“Um, where are my clothes?” her own voice sounded scratchy and weak. She cleared her throat and took another swig of hot tea.</p><p>“I hung them up in my dressing room.” At this she gave a derisive snort, the humiliations of the evening before recalled to mind. Of course, normal people had closets, he had a dressing room.</p><p>He regarded her over the rim of his mug, “I do hope, little one, you’ve not become judgmental.” That endearment caused more squirming on her part, she distinctly recalled asking him to, “Dick me down, daddy,” and he using that term of endearment to assure her he most definitely would. Damn fanfiction. She needed to get out of here.</p><p>“Well, could you go get them for me, I need to start for home.”</p><p>He eyed her speculatively over the rim of his mug, “I do hope, heart, you are not thinking of reneging on our deal.”</p><p>“Deal?” she squeaked.</p><p>He regarded her coolly, “That I spend every day of the rest of my life by your side. I distinctly recall laying out the terms and you saying ‘deal’. We made a verbal contract, sweetheart.”</p><p>He couldn’t be serious, could he? She looked into his eyes, and not all her hang ups about herself could persuade her otherwise; his expression was serious and sincere. So much so she took a sharp intake of breath and lowered her own eyes, unable to deal with the emotions that came roaring into life, emotions that made her weak and vulnerable.</p><p>She recognised the look without ever having encountered it before, and not even two decades of insecurity could persuade her to make a case otherwise. He was serious, he felt affection for her, he wanted her in his life. Her breath hitched again, and her eyes filled with tears.</p><p>“Hey, hey, hey, don’t cry. Is marrying me such a bad thing?”</p><p>Could it get any worse? “Marriage?” she hiccuped. “You never said anything about marriage.”</p><p>“Not directly, but it was implied by the terms of our contract. What can I say, I’m an old-fashioned guy.”</p><p>“But I thought you just wanted to have sex with me and it was just banter to get me into bed.”</p><p>“Oh, no. No, no, no, you don’t get to renegotiate the terms. You asked for clarity and I gave it. Your fault if you didn’t read the small print, I made our deal in good faith.”</p><p>“You’re bonkers,” it was a flat statement.</p><p>“And you’re adorable and need reminding what you got yourself into, coming home with me for the enjoyment of my body and my hand in marriage.” He put his mug down on the nightstand and took her half drunk brew from her. “So now, Mrs. Solo I’m going to remind you of the terms.” He was shucking off his jeans as he spoke; of course he’d go commando, just to torment her.</p><p>Okay, so she was weak, Mrs. Solo sounded so nice, it suited her, as he lay down beside her forcing her to make room for him, finding the corner of the towel she’d tucked in to make her makeshift toga secure and unwinding her from it, something hard already pressing against her thigh. Goodness, he was remorseless.</p><p>He was temptation personified; the least this supposed contract would provide was mind-blowing sex and the experience of how to negotiate a relationship, for she was a novice in that too. As for the rest, well, he’d soon realise she wasn’t fit to introduce to his parents or his friends. She would be truthful every step of the way and if that didn’t see him off, the reaction of his friends and family would. Horrified, they’d be horrified; a mongrel got in among the blue-bloods.</p><p>Meanwhile his kisses were sweet and his words were tender, and his body pleasurable, and she’d ride this train ‘til it stopped; eyes wide open. What could possibly go wrong?</p><p>In the end he fed her a late lunch, for they both fell asleep after their exertions and woke early afternoon. He set the shower for her but she declined his company, wanting to keep some of her privacy, the right to maintain her own routine.</p><p>He pouted but she insisted, telling him he could have the bathroom after her. Of course, he then boasted he had a second shower room; of course he did. Wow, was he going to get a shock when he saw her tiny, cramped apartment, which he would do soon upon driving her home.</p><p>A glitch occurred shortly before they were due to leave, the pilot for the evening flight called in sick. Ben was not happy, his gaze as he took the call darkling.</p><p>“I know what this is,” he grumbled, “someone over-indulged at the party and didn’t pay mind to his responsibilities. Sweetheart, I’m going to have to drop you off at your apartment and go straight to the airfield to do engine checks and the manifest. I’m sorry.”</p><p>His arms were around her, standing between her legs with his forehead resting on the top of her head.</p><p>“Do you intend to fly?” She tried not to sound too astonished - and failed.</p><p>“Lady, I could fly a plane before I could walk.”</p><p>“Really? Were you in the military.”</p><p>“No,” he said shortly, “my dad was and he taught me, along with his wingman, Chewie.”</p><p>This was good, calling to mind that Ben had parents. She could take a risk, but it wouldn’t be right to cause his parents pain of heart built on false hopes of their son being settled down.</p><p>“Ben, do you think we should keep our relationship under wraps for a while. I mean, you say you’re playing for forever, but it might just turn out to be about sex in the end - in the final analysis.”</p><p>He took her chin in his hand, looking down at her. “You are determined to find exit clauses, aren’t you. Actually, I agree, but not for the reason you think. If Dameron gets to hear about us he’ll be straight on the phone to my mother and she’ll be down on us like a ton of bricks, taking over and monopolising you. I want you to myself for a while first, before we allow other people in. I’ve waited a long time for you, Mrs. Solo.”</p><p>She wouldn’t take him seriously, she <i>wouldn’t</i>, but it was nice to feel part of a couple, even for a short while.</p><p>“Ok, Ben, whatever you say.”</p><p>He looked down upon her his eyes filled with affection and understanding, “You’ll see,” he promised.</p><p>He went to change, leaving her to properly examine her surroundings.</p><p>He was definitely a neat freak. She bit her lip. She was tidy, but when she was in the middle of a project her stuff got everywhere.</p><p>His colour palette was neutral and stark, with no cushions or throws on his couch. Whereas she loved colour and contrasting textures.</p><p>Everything looked expensive and on trend, yes, but there was no atmosphere except that of sterility. She had a plethora of cosy throws and cushions, her tableware didn’t match, and she favoured primary colours, and plants wherever she could cram them, and books.</p><p>They were too different. It was best she not dare to dream.</p><p>She heard his heavy tread, glancing up at seeing him dressed in black pants and white shirt, with a black vest and boots. He was pulling on a battered sheepskin flying jacket. To her eyes it looked authentic, with a patch on the left breast: <i>Major H. Solo, U.S.A.F.</i> with an outdated insignia, a falcon with wings spread wide</p><p>Ben saw her curious look. “It was my dad’s.”</p><p>“Oh, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”</p><p>“He’s not dead,” he interrupted, “just pickled.”</p><p>He saw her look of confusion. “Whiskey,” he said briefly, “Corellian.”</p><p>As he’d just named a premier brand, she thought she got the gist of his remark, for although it sounded harsh, there was regret in his look, a reluctant affection when he’d told her his dad taught him to fly.</p><p>He’d dressed her in one of his shirts and a pair of his tighty whitey’s, the waistband of which she’d twisted and tucked into a knot. Over this she wore her evening coat, feeling very self-conscious as they made their way to the underground car park of Ben’s building, Ben carrying her dress as if it was a sacred artefact - she had told him she got it from a flea market, as she did most of her clothes. He actually looked proud of her.</p><p>It was a good thing to be parted from him for a little while, for it gave her time to think, and to miss him. He’d pulled her in for a last hug, those big hands encompassing her ass and shoulders, breathing in her scent and groaning with regret they were parted so soon.</p><p>“Just believe,” he had pleaded, “my father fell in love with my mother the minute he saw her and I’m my father’s son, a Solo, and this is how we roll. Promise you won’t leave town.”</p><p>She’d given her word and received a last kiss and then he was gone, leaving a Ben sized hole in her life. Damn these Solo men.</p><p>They would never have got away with it except for a most fortunate series of events.</p><p>Ben came back from his trip scowling, bawling out the pilot who had been derelict in his duty, therefore not giving the slightest indication he was in love with his personal assistant. This meant that initially people stayed as far away from the ops building as they could.</p><p>Then the snows came, coinciding with the return of Poe Dameron (absent Christmas and New Year) from his vacation in the Dominican Republic, looking tanned and ready to rock.</p><p>He held court in the lunchroom, or in front of Rey’s desk, recounting the many hair-raising take offs and landings he had made over the years in far worse conditions than those currently. In short, he was insufferable, and Ben’s irritation and temper eventually spiked. He did not look like a lover, with a permanent scowl attached to his features.</p><p>Finally, he stomped out of his office and regaled them with a blow by blow account  of the infamous Kessel Run he and his dad had flown. At the mention of Han Solo’s name, some of the glamour transferred from Poe to Ben, because Ben’s dad, Rey was to learn, was a legendary aviator. After that, Poe took his audience elsewhere and Ben’s scowl lifted.</p><p>Miss Tico may have been a problem, her sharp eyes not missing a trick. However, Finn, her wingman, returned from vacation about the same time as Poe, (having also been absent Christmas and New Year), looking svelte and ready to rock. Miss Tico put two and two together, made four, and pursued Finn relentlessly for details.</p><p>Then, shortly after Finn’s return, her affair with Mr. Hux hit the skids. Miss Tico, an normally unstoppable force, had a love rival, one moreover with a will to match Miss Tico’s and crafty with it.</p><p>She had regaled Miss Kenobi with the details of her first couplings with Mr. Hux with such relish Miss Kenobi felt queasy, and then went about in a permanent post-coital bliss. It was ‘Armie this’, and ‘Armie that’, Miss Kenobi took note of how seamlessly Rose embraced her love affair.</p><p>Then disaster struck, Miss Tico began to stay over at Mr. Hux’s apartment, to share his bathroom shelf and occupy space in his closet. The female currently rooming with Mr. Hux objected - strongly objected. Millicent would brook no rival. Mr. Hux’s caresses were for her alone.</p><p>Miss Tico overplayed her hand, the normally complaisant Mr. Hux issued an edict: ‘Love me, Love my cat’. Rose, under the advisement of her sister, objected, unwisely using the phrase, “mangy moggy.”</p><p>Mr. Hux, inordinately proud of Millicent’s sleek, marmalade coloured coat and impeccable breeding, was outraged. He stood by his open apartment door, the much maligned Millicent cradled tenderly in his arms, and gave Miss Tico her marching orders.</p><p>“... and I swear to god, Rey, that damn moggy winked at me as I stormed out.”</p><p>The reverberations were seismic and ongoing.</p><p>Rey, by this time sharing Ben’s bathroom shelf and having room made for some of her clothes in his dressing room, anxiously asked her boyfriend whether they needed more drama in their relationship.</p><p>“Most emphatically not,” averred her Ben.</p><p>So it was evenings cooking dinner together in Ben’s kitchen, Rey acting <i>sous chef</i>, or driving to the hotel where Cyril had a discreet table on permanent reserve for them, or ordering takeout, afterwards sprawling on his couch.</p><p>As a special treat, when he seemed most overburdened by business demands and family legacy, she wore heels and the sunray pendant he had given her as a New Year’s gift, and a smile, and called him daddy.</p><p>Gradually they found their level as a couple and she fell in love. So when Ben went down on one knee and proposed she accepted, finding out her big, solid boyfriend was a secret romantic - he wanted them to be married Valentine’s, had booked the slot at the courthouse and filed the necessary paperwork.</p><p>She understood by this time his relationship with his parents was problematic. That they would continue to keep their secret when married was agreed. Rey had no wish to be pushed into the sort of society she had encountered New Year’s Eve, and into which her mother-in-law would surely drag her.</p><p>Safely pressed against her Ben’s chest, listening to that steady heartbeat that soothed her into sleep and kept her deepest fears at bay, took a deep breath and said yes.</p><p>So they were married Valentine’s, she in vintage Chanel, he in Dior homme, Cyril one of their witnesses, and lived happily ever after.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Rose’s HEA</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Poor Rose and Finn were left without their HEA - here it is.</p><p>The sentiments expressed by Rose’s cat in this chapter do not reflect the views of the author, but are cat-typical. Do not judge, please, until you’ve walked in the way of a cat ... ❤️ Although I am currently woman-without-cat, I am a former mad cat lady and therefore familiar with their ways.</p><p>The depiction of Enzo in this chapter is not meant to depict and cat living or passed. Any similarities are sheer happenstance.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Miss Tico walked with lagging steps back to her domain, having first cleared Mr. Solo’s immediate vicinity, Finn traipsing alongside her full of wonderment and speculation over the secret they’d just uncovered.</p><p>Normally, Miss Tico would be right there with him, except the aspect she was focused on was the expression on Mr. Solo’s face as he’d looked upon Miss Kenobi - his wife. There was a great deal of tenderness in his look, and a certain pride of possession. It was not a million miles dissimilar from looks Mr. Hux had bestowed upon her, those first few heady weeks of their relationship.</p><p>She ground to a halt, Finn overshooting her by a few steps, so quickly did she pause.</p><p>“Finn, how are things between you and Poe?”</p><p>It was a rapid and unexpected change of subject and Finn looked sheepishly at the ground, absentmindedly toeing a piece of it as he mulled over his answer.</p><p>“Well, I’d say we were on a break, if we’d ever actually been together in the first place. I’m all in, when you know you know, right?, but Poe’s older than me, and he’s used to living independently, and as he doesn’t want to mess me about ...” His voice trailed off and he shrugged his shoulders.</p><p>“What a pair we are,” said Miss Tico bitterly. “You fell for an unreliable flyboy and I fell for a guy who loves his cat more than me.”</p><p>“Hey, Poe isn’t unreliable,” Finn was vehement in his defence of the absent pilot, “it’s just a lot, changing your life. You gotta think about it, people could get hurt else.”</p><p>Miss Tico sighed, “I guess,” she sighed wearily. You’re right. I apologise. It’s just that I still feel so raw over Armie.”</p><p>Finn looked at her sympathetically. “You still not heard from him?”</p><p>Rose shook her head, “Nope, I guess calling his cat a mangy moggy was a deal breaker.” She heaved a heavy sigh, “I wish I’d strangled the thing.”</p><p>“Rose, don’t you think it’s kinda the same thing between you and Armie as it is between me and Poe? I mean, Armie and Millicent have been together a long time, you can’t expect him to throw her over just like that for something that may not last.”</p><p>“That cat,” hissed Miss Tico, “peed in my shoes and vomited fur-balls on my clothes, not to mention biting and clawing my ankles while making it look like I’d kicked her. That cat is evil.”</p><p>She resumed her journey to her office, short stomping steps giving away her current mood. Finn sighed and trailed after her.</p><p>Subsequently, Miss Tico, with impressive tech qualifications and able to hold her own in a male dominated field of work, appointed Chief Technician by the legend in his own lifetime Han Solo, and protégé of no less a personage as Senator Leia Organa, put her powerful intellect to work, and changed tack.</p><p>Firstly, she eschewed any further advice from her sister. She loved Paige with all her heart, but Cupid she was not. Secondly, she acquired a cat of her own, a rescue cat with ‘behavioural difficulties’, a Bengali with vivid green eyes and an attitude problem.</p><p>Enzo had balls the size of marbles and had adapted his gait to accommodate them. Paige took one look at them as they receded from view, his tail upright with a slight kink to the tip, inspecting his new home, and pronounced that he had “big dick energy.”</p><p>Miss Tico, staring into his cage, had caught his attention. He recognised in her a kindred spirit, a soul who would go down fighting. Indomitable.</p><p>Stretching out lazily to his full extent on his faux sheepskin nest, for it wouldn’t do to play it anything less than cool, he gave a lazy yawn, one paw stretched forward, claws extended, and regarded Miss Tico out of half shut eyes.</p><p>“I’m afraid Enzo will be difficult to re-home,” the assistant was trying to move Rose on. “He’s a bit of a handful.” She prattled on about his ‘difficult temperament’ and recommended a kitty just a few cages down.</p><p>Miss Tico, on eye level with Enzo’s cage, breathed out his name, “Come to Momma, you bad, perfect boy.”</p><p> Enzo slid seamlessly onto his belly, rising to his feet in one fluid movement, stalking toward Rose, eyes now fully open. It took Paige to name it, but he exuded big dick energy out of every pore.</p><p>He stopped about an inch from the metal bars of his cage and regarded his potential owner, understanding she was not to be messed with, but would have his six no matter what. He opened his mouth and spoke, “Meow.”</p><p>“I’ll take him.”</p><p>“What!” The keeper was aghast. “Miss Tico, really, I would advise against it.”</p><p>Miss Tico rose to her full, diminutive height, “I said I’ll take him. He’s the one.” The girl looked into that determined face and caved, “Yes, ma’am, if you’ll just come to the office.”</p><p>“When I said I’ll take him, I meant just that.”</p><p>The keeper looked at her, confused. Rose made a gesture and the girl understood, Miss Tico wanted to literally take Enzo with her. She would have argued, but she knew herself to be outmatched. Sighing, she unlocked Enzo’s cage and stood aside.</p><p>The haunches of the Bengal lowered slightly, the only sign of what he was about to do, and he gracefully leaped from his temporary home into the arms of his permanent one. The keeper gave a little scream. Miss Tico, arms automatically cuddling her cat, made a derisive snort at the girl’s overreaction, looking down into Enzo’s beautifully sculpted face.</p><p>“Well, hello you.”</p><p>He delicately extended his neck, rubbing his scent glands against Rose’s jawline and chin. “Mine,” he seemed to be saying. “You’re mine now, baby boy,” Rose murmured. Enzo sent up a deep purring confirmation of the truth of those words.</p><p>They settled in together remarkably quickly. Enzo, knowing better than to disturb Miss Tico’s beauty sleep, woke Paige from her slumbers in the early hours of the morning to refresh his water bowl or put down more kibble; though he preferred to sleep with his owner, preferably lying under her hand.</p><p>Every work day, she attached a leash to his harness, picked up his go bag filled with all his daily essentials, and took him to work with her. Being a Bengali and therefore highly intelligent, he required near constant stimuli. In Miss Tico’s company he found just that.</p><p>A third female came into his orbit, a brunette with hazel eyes that could turn green at times, a green as vivid as his own complete with brown and gold flecks. This female lived a little way from his usual haunts and he sought her company when he required undivided attention, laying across her keyboard until he got it.</p><p>He didn’t push his luck with this female too hard, though, she couldn’t hide from him the feral quality hidden behind the wide smile she flashed before the world. Like him, she knew how to push back.</p><p>A fourth female came into his life, though an intermittent visitor. He admired the grooming of this female, her look was sleek and expensive - like his.</p><p>There was a bracelet this female wore, it’s gentle jangling alerted him to her presence and he batted gently at the medallions and suchlike which hung from it as she petted him, careful to keep his claws retracted.</p><p>This female, too, was not to be messed with. What could he say, he sought out the company of powerful women.</p><p>Men he didn’t have a lot of time for, unless they were a pushover and could be pressed into his service. The man called Finn was such a one. He was confused at first, it seemed his female was close to this man but he soon established he was no threat, they were not mated.</p><p>No, Finn was mated with the one called Poe, who was truly admiring of Enzo’s style, crooning over the beauty of his coat and giving the perfect amount of tickle-belly; removing his tickling fingers before they became an encroachment and an annoyance which must, therefore, be punished.</p><p>There was another man. This man was a man after his own heart, just exuding big dick energy. He was mated to the green-eyed female, Rey, and was possessive of her. Enzo dealt with his jealousy without delay; hey, females were for sharing, right?</p><p>Rey, watching the cat follow Ben into his office, repressed a giggle. Man and cat, unbelievably, had mastered a similar walk to accommodate their blessed nether regions, wide legged with toes turned slightly in.</p><p>Enzo leaped lightly onto the man’s desk as he settled himself into his leather chair, their eyes meeting. The man’s eyes contained the colours of Enzo’s coat. Pretty eyes thought Enzo.</p><p>The man’s eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed with suspicion. Enzo got this, truly he did, but explained - loudly - that things were cool between them, really they were. He understood there were boundaries regarding the mated female, truly he did, and he would respect them.</p><p>He then shared a moment with the man, settling himself on his desk and indulging in a bit of self-care, sprawling out and giving his balls a good clean, sharing a guys only together moment. He heard a rumbling from the man and lifted his own head, purring right back at him. The man held out one giant finger and chucked him softly behind his ear. See, these were the moments Enzo lived for, guys getting together and peacefully sorting out their issues.</p><p>He spent the morning with the man, Ben, sharing his lunch, then taking a postprandial nap on his lap. Ben exuded heat, Enzo couldn’t help himself, he purred continuously the entire time.</p><p>The first and only time Rose, his female, didn’t come home to share their bed, he was devastated. He couldn’t understand it, he’d been the perfect gentlemen, reaching out and befriending Rose’s extended family. Putting himself out there to obtain their goodwill. He cried and cried and cried, inconsolable.</p><p>Paige tried to comfort him, but it was no use, he was going to be sent back to the cage, he just knew it. His heart shattered. He heard Paige talking to someone, vaguely acknowledging it, continuing to express his grief. Then Rose’s voice sounded in the apartment and he ran toward it, begging her to tell him what he’d done wrong, promising he’d be a good boy from now on.</p><p>If this was over sicking up a fur-ball in Snap Wexley’s unattended, open lunch box, he promised he would never do it again. It’s just that he sensed the hostility Snap had for his female, how he had observed him undermining her with the guys. Ben had understood, telling Wexley to ‘grow a pair’, forbidding Wexley to take revenge, holding Enzo against his large, warm chest in his large, warm hands as he yelled at him. Truly Ben was a man amongst men.</p><p>All this he tried to tearfully explain, along with a load of other stuff, until Rose became agitated too and gently shushed him, rocking him against her breast, speaking to him soothingly until at last he calmed down. He didn’t leave her side the whole of the next day, nor the day after. Rey came to see him, and Ben, but he couldn’t be gotten away from his female.</p><p>Shortly after this, his nerves still jittery, Rose clipped on his leash and picked up his go bag. He was confused, work time had finished, could his female be taking him back to the cage? He became distressed again. Rose’s voice soothing him as they drove. No it wasn’t the cage, it was a large apartment block, much grander than where Rose and Paige lived.</p><p>“We’re going to see Armie,” Rose confided, picking him up and holding him close, pressing little kisses between his ears as she walked into the elevator. “And Millicent,” she added. Enzo just knew Millicent was a bad person from the way Rose said her name. He prepared to do battle for his female.</p><p>The apartment door swung open and a man stood there, “pushover” thought Enzo. Rose handed him to the man who went unerringly for the places Enzo liked to be tickled best. Enzo released his loudest purr, the one he usually reserved for Ben. He could tell the man was delighted. Enzo scent marked his jawline and chin.</p><p>Put down on a very nice hardwood floor, he went exploring.</p><p>He loved his home, really he did, but this place was something special. He scent marked the legs of some very nice chairs, moving onto the matching table, winding his body sinuously around the legs.</p><p>It was a spacious apartment, he could have great fun sliding over the expanse of hardwood flooring. He tried an experimental run and then braked hard; he slid a little ways, it was an intoxicating feeling. He heard Rose and ‘Armie’ laugh at his antics.</p><p>He wandered into the kitchen. There was evidence of another cat living here. He sniffed the air delicately. A female. He purred, his tail erect.</p><p>He found her in a small room which looked like an office. There was a very nice leather armchair here, antique he was guessing, with a dark green throw draped artfully over the seat and one arm. He leapt lightly up, treading a nest into the luxurious fabric.</p><p>There was movement under the desk. Two yellow eyes stared out malevolently. “Get out, get out, get out,” a distinctly feminine voice hissed.</p><p>“Relax, sweetheart,” he murmured, a phrase he had learned from Ben. Ben said it often to Rey; as in, “Relax, sweetheart, I’ve got this,” or, more often, “Relax, sweetheart, no-one will come in.”</p><p>Ben said the latter frequently, but clicked the lock to his office anyways before pressing Rey down on the ancient couch, the most obscene sounds then emanating from the pair of them.</p><p>On these occasions, Enzo would lie on his back staring at the ceiling, meditating, until the gasping and groaning ceased, the wet slapping and the springs on the well-worn couch finally stilling, and then resume his careful grooming as though nothing untoward had just happened.</p><p>He loved Rose truly, but in light of recent events, if Rose didn’t want him anymore, he would go to Ben. Ben was a man among men, as his contented mate could well attest.</p><p>The female was edging out from under the desk, a big-assed ginger, he saw. Not his usual type, but if she came free with the apartment ... he wasn’t overly picky.</p><p>“You want a piece of me, sweetheart?” Ben asked Rey that too, from time to time.</p><p>“Ugh, you’re disgusting,” she spat at him. He just grinned at her, “Trying too hard, sweetheart. The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”</p><p>“Whatever that means,” she hissed. “Just take that rank female of yours and get your dirty paws out of my home.”</p><p>“Our, home,” he corrected gently, “our home, sweetheart.”</p><p>“Never,” she hissed, “I’ve gotten rid of your female once and I can do it again, and you with her.”</p><p>Before she could blink, before she could draw another breath, he was on her, pressing her onto her side into the oriental rug beneath her, exercising dominance. “Now play nice,” he growled, “and no-one gets hurt.”</p><p>She was shocked by his strength, her instincts telling her to submit to the Alpha in the room. He was grinning at her, repeating that odious phrase, “Relax, sweetheart.”</p><p>They heard Armie’s voice, “Enzo, where are you boy?” and Rose’s voice adding to his inquiry.</p><p>When they walked into the office, Enzo was just rising, yawning, from the throw on the leather armchair, stretching out his lithe body to its fullest extent, claws unsheathing and retracting. “There you are,” Armie said, an indulgent note in his voice, taking note of Millicent spreadeagled on the rug. “Oh, you two were getting acquainted, I see.”</p><p>Enzo meowed in an inviting manner, claiming Armie’s full attention from the sulking Millicent and being gathered up.</p><p>“He’s very decorative,” Armie observed to Rose, “almost leopard like. He blends in beautifully with my mother’s antiques.”</p><p>As he exited the room, accompanied by Rose, Millicent forgotten, Enzo draped over his shoulder, Enzo couldn’t resist winking at her, “Relax, sweetheart.” Millicent looked as though she wanted to vomit.</p><p>That night, after riding shotgun, protecting Rose from Millicent’s possible depredation, Enzo let them get their <i>activities</i> out of the way before leaping lightly onto the bed, and patting out a nest on Armie’s chest.</p><p>Armie’s hand encompassed him, receiving deep purrs as a reward, Rose snuggling into him and placing her hand over his.</p><p>“I shouldn’t have doubted you,” Armie murmured, “we’ll all live as one happy family, I see it now.” Rose murmured a soft, “Mmm.” Under his hand, Enzo gave a deep, reassuring purr. Armie’s thumb moved to caress under his chin, Enzo gave him a kitten lick to his wrist.</p><p>A new household was formed that night, the Tico-Huxes.</p><p>Enzo wouldn’t have it any other way.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Of cats and kittens</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>More nonsense I’m afraid, written by a crazy cat lady ❤️</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Honestly, you’d think there had never been kittens born before, but as soon as Armitage Hux was told his cat, his beloved Millicent, was pregnant and had not, as he had previously supposed, eaten something indigestible, his anxiety spiked and there was nothing he wouldn’t do for her.</p><p>After staring at the veterinarian for a full minute together, slack-jawed and disbelieving, he gathered his beloved cat to his breast, guilt temporarily drowning out any other emotion for, truly, he had been neglectful of his ginger pussy in favour of their showy Bengali roommate.</p><p>Following on from this, as he drove home with pages of printouts and pregnant kitty supplements, Millicent laid tenderly in her carrier, rage possessed him; he knew who to blame for the defilement of his Millicent.</p><p>“Why didn’t you get him neutered?” he snarled at Rose subsequently.</p><p>“Well, why didn’t you get Millicent spayed?” retorted the Chief Aircraft Technician belonging Solo Air Freight Services.</p><p>“Because she’s a blue-blooded British Shorthair unlike that ...”</p><p>“As is Enzo,” Rose interrupted him, anticipating the slur on <i>her</i> beloved cat’s antecedents and beginning to scowl, lips thinning warningly, “and I have the receipts to prove it.”</p><p>Armie, who by now had realised he could do without a lot of things, but not his beloved Rose, clenched his fists, ground his teeth, and walked off to do some serious reading of pre and post natal kitty care before beginning the arduous task of collating a spreadsheet mapping out the best care plan possible for his gestating pussy.</p><p>“What did you do?” Rose turned on an unruffled Enzo, sitting primly with his tail wrapped around his front paws. Fortunately, the question was a rhetorical one, so Enzo didn’t need to give her the down and dirty just assurance it was cool; the whole situation was cool.</p><p>He was vocal in his assurances for, heaven knew, he loved to talk, wrapping himself around Rose’s ankles and scent marking her slippers until Armie shouted from the other end of the apartment for Rose to, “Shut him the fuck up!”</p><p>It was an ominous sign of things to come.</p><p>Millicent was now in the ascendant, Enzo banished to the spare room when the household turned in for the night, so that, “My poor Millie can’t be <i>got at</i> by that fiend.”</p><p>“Hey,” Enzo started to protest, “she’s hardly a lady, let me tell you.”</p><p>Armie wasn’t listening, carrying off his pet to her bed - placed so that his hand could reach down and pet her when he woke during the night, his sleep pattern now shattered by the expectation of impending fatherhood.</p><p>Enzo thought this a gross overreaction and said so. Rose thought so too, but remained silent.</p><p>It couldn’t go on like this. Enzo, highly intelligent, could not do without the stimulus of people and one-to-one interactions. Rose’s sleep was now broken as Enzo voiced his troubles to a sleeping world - loudly.</p><p>There was only one solution, an extended holiday with Ben and Rey; Rose having confided her troubles to the Solo’s, accompanied by Enzo’s loudly vocalised version of events.</p><p>Initially, Ben had shown a tendency to laugh, a wide grin breaking out over his face. Enzo grinned right back at his bosom buddy forever.</p><p>Rey was more thoughtful, lips pursed as she listened and sympathised as Rose recounted her current relationship difficulties. She raised an objection, however, Enzo was welcome, of course he was, but their building didn’t allow pets of any kind.</p><p>Ben’s rumble sounded, Enzo clasped in his arms frantically scenting one of Ben’s huge pointer fingers.</p><p>“Don’t worry, sweetheart, my family own the building.”</p><p>Rey scoffed, “Of course they do.”</p><p>Rose rolled her eyes, “Of course they would.”</p><p>Enzo snuggled further into Ben’s broad chest, letting out the purr reserved only for him, deciding then and there to indulge in a spot of social climbing. The human named Hux owned a mid-century apartment, which was nothing when compared with Ben’s beaux arts building.</p><p>This enviable piece of real estate had been bought by Grandma Paddy with money from the compensation package paid out by the French government, in recompense for graciously allowing them to annex her tiny kingdom of Naboo.</p><p>Her Serene Highness Queen Padmé, to give her her proper title. Although the French Foreign Minister of the time had other less flattering soubriquets to describe her - a Theedan horse trader the least of them.</p><p>Her Serene Highness’s slight figure and frail beauty belied a spine of steel. Digging in the heels of her beige coloured Chanel sling back shoes, she walked away with a large cash sum, the leasehold of Naboo’s casino and adjacent five star hotel, and a large slice of waterfront real estate; upon which she’d had constructed a luxury yacht basin and much sought after apartments - with uninterrupted sea views and access to a private beach.</p><p>The revenues from these investments principally funded the Amidala-Skywalker power base and lifestyle.</p><p>No wonder Anakin Skywalker, promised possession of the world and all its glory by Sheev Palpatine, realised he’d been sold a bill of goods and worked to bring the whole shebang down and reconcile with his wife; who was doing very nicely without him, thank you very much. Still, she forgave him, eventually, and retrieved her children from the guardianship of their foster families, it now being safe to do so.</p><p>Sheev Palpatine and his minions were now in no position to harm any child of hers, having been mysteriously cut down by person or persons unknown by means of a large sword - or so the cops hypothesised. However, it couldn’t possibly have been Anakin, the obvious prime suspect, as his wife could provide him with a watertight alibi, backed up by the testament of two witnesses: her butler, Cyril, and her dresser, Sabé, and the best legal defence team money could buy.</p><p>Yup, watertight.</p><p>Ben had drip-fed his wife snippets of the extent of his family wealth, not wanting her to run for the hills screaming, knowing of her sensitivities.</p><p>His Rey was currently stretched out on their couch, her feet pressed against one of his thighs, looking at him with slack-jawed disbelief. Enzo, oblivious and uncaring on her lap, gnawed playfully at the tip of one of her knitting pins, which had stilled as Ben dusted off another couple of skeletons from the family closet.</p><p>He saw her take a breath, anticipating the tone of her next remark, “Well, aren’t the shades of Pemberly polluted! A pauper’s married into the family.”</p><p>This was said with a certain amount of bravura, but he was not deceived. Her eyes were suddenly glossy, her beautiful face of a sudden wearing a pinched look.</p><p>Calmly he lifted Enzo and placed him on the floor, swooping down on him so that he squawked, temporarily discombobulated, tail vibrating with annoyance at being so unexpectedly manhandled.</p><p>Rey’s knitting followed, cast down none too gently, the ball of yarn unravelling unhindered over the hardwood floor, chased by Enzo emitting one of those indescribable, funny little noises cats make when agitated and determining on retaliatory naughtiness.</p><p>Ben lifted Rey bodily, she too letting out a squawk of surprise at her husbands swift, decisive actions. He pressed her to him, a hand at her lower back, the other clasping one of her thighs as she straddled him.</p><p>Seating himself once more upon the couch, he put on a stern schoolmasterish voice.</p><p>“Now, wife, why did I marry you?”</p><p>Her eyes were downcast, unable to meet his stern gaze, torn between wanting to deny his professions of love and devotion and wanting, so terribly a lot, to believe them with all her heart.</p><p>“Because you love me and can’t conceive of a day spent without me that isn’t bleak and pointless,” her voice had stilled to a soft murmuring, the repeated sentiment not spoken with conviction.</p><p>This mantra had had to be repeated several times already during their brief marriage, usually upon receipt of another snippet of the legacy he was born into, his pupil proving most unsatisfactory in its retention. He, the master, forced to mark it down as a <i>work on</i>, to his oft expressed displeasure.</p><p>“Now, wife, do you believe it?” The stern voice rumbled above her bowed head, her husband’s hand finding her chin and pushing it up so that their eyes would meet.</p><p>She now lowered her lashes, her sense of unworthiness battling with a longing to fully believe. Knowing if she looked she would believe, but how could she ever deserve him? In what universe could they ever stand together before the world as equals?</p><p>He was born a prince; she an orphan who through grim necessity bought the clothes on her back from thrift stores, flea markets and the like. No matter it had become a hobby and a passion, a lucrative one at that. For she had sold the Valentino gown for $2,500, much to his annoyance, so that she could buy off the peg clothing to meet his couture clad mother on equal footing at least once.</p><p>“Look at me,” his voice was low but insistent. Not a request, a command which must be obeyed.</p><p>So she did look, and what she found there, in his dark expressive eyes, drew a great tearing sob from her throat and she cast herself against him, one of her hands seeking out that steady beat which always brought about a sense of security and comfort, and bound her tightly to him even when she most wanted to run.</p><p>“Relax, sweetheart,” his voice was now a comforting rumble, “I’ve got this.”</p><p>Enzo cleared the last bit of dried food from his food bowl, walking the couple of feet to drink from his water bowl, tail still swishing in annoyance over his manhandling.</p><p>He padded softly over the floor to Ben and Rey’s bedroom, tail twitching. </p><p>All was silent now except for the low rumble of Ben’s voice soothing his female into sleep. Enzo’s purr automatically started up upon hearing Ben’s low, comforting burr.</p><p>It was another gift they shared, this ability to soothe females with the lower register of their voices. Although it was a mixed blessing, he had found; after all, it was his amatory soothing of the big-assed ginger, Millicent, that meant he was currently banned from Hux’s apartment. Not that he was complaining, not really. And he got to see Rose five days out of seven at her place of work and spend quality time with her.</p><p>He leapt up onto their bed, Ben with Rey cradled in his arms, her back pressed against his chest. This was Enzo’s favourite sleeping position, and he padded over to Rey, increasing exponentially the intensity of his purring.</p><p>“Enzo,” she murmured sleepily, and lifted her hand so he could snuggle under it. Ben murmured something and Enzo briefly increased his volume, hearing his two pets give out contented sighs in response. Sure that they had settled down nicely, his own purring ceased and he joined them in peaceful slumber.</p><p>Of course, there had to be a reckoning. Next morning Ben walked in on Enzo being read the riot act, standing on the central island of the kitchen loudly justifying his unravelling of Rey’s knitting and weaving the ball of yarn most artistically, and with malice aforethought, around the legs of their dining table and chairs.</p><p>Rey was insisting he was a bad cat as Enzo stood his ground arguing diminished responsibility due to the disturbance of his usual nightly routine. As a peace offering, while he answered back, he vibrated his tail and gently stomped his back legs to show no diminution of his affection.</p><p>Ben’s female was being stubborn, and it took Ben the kissing of his wife and the stroking of his cat to restore order, that and the promise of fresh brewed tea and pancakes. Truce was called and Enzo scoffed tiny morsels of buttery pancake from Rey’s sticky fingers.</p><p>It was a work day and Ben walked him over to see Rose, Enzo crouched on his broad shoulder. This was a newish thing and would become a common sight, especially on those days when rain had sullied the asphalt or the sun had made it too hot for Enzo’s delicate paddy paws to tread upon.</p><p>From this vantage point he could see everything, and deceive everyone. To all intents and purposes a delicately built cat treading cautiously through the world of men. Ha, they were mistaken, a top predator was perched upon Ben’s shoulders. A lord of the jungle, a king of the Savannah, the power of life and death between his paws, lord of all he surveyed.</p><p>Eyes wide, he caught every movement. Examined every new thing. Committed everything to memory for investigation at a more convenient time. Enzo the Magnificent.</p><p>His tail lashed furiously, he would kill ten mice today and present them to Rey, every one of them. Would she prefer them alive?</p><p>They were greeted by an harassed Rose. Millicent’s time was near, and there were days she didn’t conform to Armie’s carefully constructed spreadsheet for that day. This caused a spike in (his) anxiety and a rush to the vet. Unlike columns of figures, childbirth (kitten-birth?) was not linear and he was having a hard time adjusting.</p><p>As she spoke, she pressed her face into Enzo’s glossy coat and rubbed her cheek against its soft pile. Enzo gave her special purrs and little kitten licks where he could. Ben enfolded her in his arms and added his soft rumblings of reassurance.</p><p>Just over a week later Millicent gave birth, privately, under the keyhole desk in Armie’s home office, safe from prying eyes. There was now no doubt who was the father. Three girls wore the coat of their father, leopard-like spots and banded legs, and one boy, a ginger tabby with eight ginger leopard spots on his belly.</p><p>Enzo wouldn’t be going home anytime soon.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Root of All Evil</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Mention of infidelity in this chapter, taking place during marital estrangement.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Enzo saw the kits when they were three weeks old. His daughters tumbled out over the drawbridge of the high-sided mock castle Armitage had bought to house the nursing Millicent; complete with turrets and crenellations. When drawn up, this drawbridge could be secured to keep four naughty kittens safe from the consequences of their naughtiness.</p><p>Well, three naughty kittens. Millicent’s son was something of a momma’s boy already, not straying far from her side. He was currently attached to one of her teats, lying comfortably atop the heated cushion Armitage had lined the kitty crib with, topped by a cashmere throw. Had it not been for this fact, Millicent might have had something to say about Enzo’s presence.</p><p>As it was, there was already tension in the air. Enzo had been perched on Ben’s shoulder when the door to Armitage and Rose’s apartment had opened, opened by Hux himself, and the sight of Enzo nuzzling Ben’s cheek purring affectionately had caused a spasm of jealousy to flash across the ginger’s face.</p><p>He had turned away huffing and without uttering a greeting, calling out, “Rose, your visitors are here,” in a most disagreeable tone of voice, stalking away without inviting them in. Ben grinned, and Enzo grinned right back.</p><p>“Keep an eye on your balls, little buddy,” Ben advised, softly butting his head against Enzo’s. Enzo ramped up with the purring.</p><p>Then Rose was there huffing at Armie’s rudeness, above all such pettiness herself, instead calling out with gladness Enzo’s name. He gave a loud meow and leaped toward her. She caught him, wrapping loving arms around him and burying her nose into his fur, murmuring endearments. He increased his purr by several decibels.</p><p>Preliminaries over, his leash unclipped, he was placed before the castle’s drawbridge, having peeked over it as he was set down and glimpsing three of the most beautifully marked Bengali kittens there had ever been - aside from himself when that age, of course.</p><p>He sat in august serenity, tail primly wrapped around his paws as his daughters tumbled over each other and over their own feet in their haste to get to him, mewling “Papa, papa.”</p><p>He graciously allowed them to cavort around and over him, making assaults on the tip of his tail as he idly flicked it back and forth, noticing with some pleasure that the banding around their front legs was very similar to his own.</p><p>“Job well done,” he congratulated himself before detecting Millicent lax in her grooming, and settled down with one of them between his paws to give her a thorough wash. The other two stood off in some initial confusion and then resumed their attack on his tail chirruping aggressively, while he helpfully continued to swish it back and forth for their amusement.</p><p>Thus absorbed, he didn’t hear Ben and Rey open negotiations to permanently adopt him.</p><p>Hux’s initial <i>froideur</i> had been provoked in equal parts by mortification and jealousy; he had long concluded that he had overreacted regarding Millicent’s impregnation by Enzo.</p><p>He felt guilt too for depriving Rose of <i>her</i> beloved kitty. Seeing Ben and Enzo so obviously fond of each other, best buddies as Rose wistfully remarked from time to time, his guilt and jealousy spiked.</p><p>He had long suppressed the jealous feelings he carried in his bosom toward Ben Solo. Huh, these Solo men walked the Earth as though they owned it - well, they did own a substantial slice of it, the late queen had seen to that.</p><p>Honestly, it was obscene the money she’d rung out of the French government, with the backing of the U.N. no less, and what had she done with the Naboo Crown Jewels everyone would like to know? That was not counting the ill gotten gains of Anakin Skywalker, nestled in a Swiss bank account he’d be bound, and also the fortune the childless Organa’s had left their beloved foster daughter, Leia Amidala-Organa-Skywalker-Solo. Huh!</p><p>Add to these roiling emotions the cumulative effect of weeks of disturbed sleep, and it was a snappish retort wrung from his lips at Ben’s tentative inquiry. Unfortunately, he followed through with a sneering remark and a derisively curled lip. Ben stopped smiling. Rose and Rey each laid a soothing hand on the forearm of their respective partners.</p><p>As Rose spoke temporising words over the matter, Rey felt little needles pierce her ankle and looked down to see a small kitty wrestling with the laces of her sneakers, none to careful where she put her un-retracted claws.</p><p>“Ow! Hey, little miss, that hurts.” She bent and picked up the writhing kitten, untangling her laces from needle sharp claws and teeth and cupping a hand for the tiny creature to nestle in. Alas, it needed one of Ben’s hands to provide an adequate cradle for the wriggling creature.</p><p>As she made this observation verbally, her ever chivalrous spouse immediately offered his services and they crooned and exclaimed together over the tiny creature, who was not long in attacking their caressing fingers.</p><p>“Ben,” his wife sighed his name, looking beseechingly at him.</p><p>When calmer counsels prevailed, Deed of Ownership was transferred to the Solo’s and Enzo became (mostly) Ben’s, and the feisty girl who had tugged at Rey’s heartstrings and left scratches on her ankle and hand was named Miss Priss and she too made a home with them.</p><p>As responsible cat owners both Enzo and Miss Priss were <i>seen to</i>. </p><p>Ben’s eyes had moistened in sympathy as he handed Enzo over to the veterinarian, and even years later, three whiskeys in, he would still apologise to his best buddy for the fell deed done that day.</p><p>Enzo forgave him, of course he did. What he found harder to reconcile was the bringing into the family of one of Millicent’s daughters. Prissy by name and prissy by nature that one. He avoided her like the plague.</p><p>Very rarely did they travel to Ben’s parents, rather the Princess visited them - the beautifully groomed lady with the gold bracelet hung with medallions and other charms.</p><p>Now ownership of Enzo had been legally established, ownership being a relative term of course, because - cat; Ben had run out of <strike>excuses</strike> reasons not to comply with his wife and his mother’s oft repeated request to visit. A mumbled invite from his father was to be found somewhere in the mix too, if you looked; which going by Ben’s resentfully hunched shoulder indicated he wouldn’t be any time soon.</p><p>Thanksgiving was decided upon, Rey’s eyes bright with anticipation because, 1. Her first experience of the celebration, and, 2. The chance of a communal meal - a family meal - the novelty of such occasions having not yet worn off. It would also be the first time Enzo met Han.</p><p>Miss Priss was weaned by now and had had all her shots, plus being toilet trained. However, she was still capable of doing really mad things so journeyed in her carrier, strapped in the back seat of Ben’s car. Enzo initially stood on Rey’s lap, front paws against the door panel gazing out the window, before growing bored and dozing off curled up under her constantly caressing hand.</p><p>On a rest break the cats attracted a lot of attention due to their striking looks, Enzo especially perched upon Ben’s shoulder. Access to Miss Priss, blessed with her mother’s temperament, was more sensitively managed by Rey.</p><p>However, even Enzo had his limits, young children not being his favourite amongst the species; indeed, most unsuitable companions for a Bengali. A quiet corner was found for the cats to take their comfort break and then they were on the road again, Rey behind the wheel now, Enzo draped around Ben’s neck, a favourite place to take a power nap.</p><p>Ben amused himself for a while flicking the end of Enzo’s tail, which lashed furiously in response before being folded back over his cat’s haunches. Then he tickled the pads on Enzo’s dangling front paws, elegantly crossed to show to best advantage. This resulted in them being tucked up and then, when Ben persisted in his teasing, a show of unsheathed claws.</p><p>At the sight of these lethal weapons, Ben’s rumbling laugh sounded, slightly shaking his shoulders, and he desisted from further irritating his kitty, rewarded with an answering purr from Enzo’s throat and contented snuggling down into Ben’s warmth.</p><p>It was a happy, relaxed family group that arrived to visit at the Solo residence, less ostentatious than might be supposed, Han having purchased it.</p><p>There was plentiful food and snacks for human and cat alike, Enzo sharing the Princess’s taste for salmon (fresh and smoked) and cream cheese and caviar - not lumpfish caviar, you understand, but the real stuff, Beluga. This was served on the tip of the Princess’s finger on a dot of cream cheese, accompanied by lots of encouragement to indulge himself uttered through charmingly pouting lips, the gold charms clinking equally enticingly on the Princess’s wrist.</p><p>Truly, except for abandoning Ben, and, of course, Rey, Enzo could quite see himself a member of the Princess’s entourage as he nibbled and licked her finger clean. Such refinements were wasted on his daughter, whom he saw off with a yowl and a spitting hiss as she tried to muscle in.</p><p>“Enzo,” cried Rey, gathering Prissy to her bosom, “bad cat!” feeding Miss Priss her very own treat from her very own hands, which suited Enzo just fine.</p><p>The Princess was assisted in the kitchen by her live-out housekeeper, Maz; for although the Princess let it be known she was a keen cook in every interview she gave, and that recipe books were her favourite downtime reading, in reality her culinary skills were hit and miss at best, at worse - <i>disastrous</i>.</p><p>Her foster parents, in the diplomatic service, kept servants, and her birth mother could not envisage any circumstance where she did not have her butler and dresser to hand. Although, to be fair, Padmé could make a mean cup of tea if someone showed her where the implements were kept, and was a wiz at cutting cake and handing out cookies.</p><p>The necessity for such assistance was soon made evident for another reason. It wasn’t to be the cosy family group Ben had anticipated, but some of the local movers and shakers had been invited, the formal dining room dressed with white linen, white china, silver cutlery, and crystal glasses. </p><p>Adorning the pristine white cloth covering the walnut dining table that had been her mother’s, were silver candelabra and simple (but expensive) flower arrangements delivered that very morning by her favoured florist.</p><p>Seeing these evidences that they were not to dine <i>en famille</i> as he had supposed, Ben’s jaw tightened and the atmosphere in the house grew tense. This tension increased as the lunch guests arrived, redolent of money and power and influence every one of them, or recipients of the benefits of money and power and influence as attendant wives and daughters.</p><p>It was with difficulty Ben kept his tongue in check, belatedly realising his mother wanted to show off her new daughter, not fully realising Rey’s inferiority complex.</p><p>To his surprise, (and a little to his relief), his Rey held her own. One of the guests owned an engineering conglomerate and his wife further surprised him by exhibiting an in-depth knowledge in this field; drawing the man out and then assuming the role of active listener.</p><p>She was dressed casually, like the other houseguests, but in a new <i>pret-a-porter</i> designer outfit, courtesy of a box of vintage Hermès and English Eccentrics silk scarves she had unearthed at a garage sale and resold for eighty dollars each. </p><p>He loved his wife and admired her independent spirit but, in truth, this refusal to just use the black Amex card he had given her was getting tedious. Could she not just accept she had (unknowingly) married into significant wealth and spend the damn stuff however and on whatever she pleased? </p><p>Hell, could he help being born into money? No! He had as much control over his birth as she had of hers, so cut him some slack, please. Besides, she seemed hell bent on making a virtue out of being poor. The hell with that too. Who in their rational mind would want to be born into poverty?</p><p>He was wound up and busking for a fight by the time the last guests left, late afternoon, Maz and the two hired wait staff putting the kitchen to rights. The trigger was sight of his father hovering on the fringes of the assembled company throughout lunch as though not sure of his welcome.</p><p>The hell with that. Han Solo had bought this house and it was his money that had paid for its remodelling to accommodate his wife’s social status and inherited pieces of antique furniture.</p><p>The sight turned Ben’s thoughts to another person who had never felt comfortable in his mother’s milieu and been neglected because of it - himself. His mother unwittingly lit the spark which ignited a flame, and hot accusatory words tumbled from his lips in a torrent.</p><p>Han ambled off. Huh, no surprises there, then. His mother burst into tears and fled upstairs. Rey stood looking at him aghast, like she had never seen him before, like she was <i>sooo</i> disappointed in him. She turned on her heel and walked toward the kitchen, which had suddenly gone ominously quiet, without a word.</p><p>Baulked of anyone to vent at, and most certainly not following his wife into the kitchen where Maz Kanata was probably waiting to clock him over the head with a cast iron skillet, he clenched his fists, body rigid, and screamed “Fuuuccckkk!” before slamming out the house, unable to get his wife’s expression out of his mind’s eye, disappointed in himself now too.</p><p>There was a timid knocking at Leia’s bedroom door, “Come in, dear,” she called out, mistress of her emotions but her voice still a little watery. True enough, it was Rey who came sidling into the room as though unsure of her welcome.</p><p>“Leia, ...” whatever she was going to say the words died on her lips, for Leia was sitting on her bed with the two cats, the both of them trying to to paw off diamond and emerald bracelets draped around their necks. Three long leather cases lay discarded and empty on the carpet, the cats lying on a mound of jewellery. It was like the treasure heap of Smaug - with cats.</p><p>Miss Priss had toed her bracelet off and was engaged in biting it. Enzo had stilled his efforts and was watching his daughter’s antics with interest.</p><p>“Oh, don’t mind this, dear,” Leia made an encompassing gesture at the glittering pile, lit by the room’s ambient lighting, the wall-to-wall curtains at the window drawn against the November evening’s gloom. It was like being on the film set for <i>Rebecca</i>, the Joan Fontaine version. Did Maz Kanata double as Dani?</p><p>“I often do this when I’m upset, or to pass an idle hour.” She giggled, a reassuring sound, “But never before with such beautiful playmates, look how well the stones go with their coats.”</p><p>The cats did indeed provide the requisite sense of luxury the jewellery demanded and deserved.</p><p>“It was my mother’s” Leia continued, “and whenever I bring it out to play, or wear a piece of it, I feel closer to her, as though she was standing by my side giving her approval.” She let out a laugh, gravelly and throaty, “Though she probably hasn’t passed to the next realm but stands guard over it; she loved her jewellery.”</p><p>Rey, moving forward, said uncertainly, “I can see that. Was it truly all hers?”</p><p>Leia, engaged in heaping necklaces and bracelets atop a passive Enzo, nodded distractedly. “Most of it is inherited, though she added pieces of her own throughout the years, and, of course, what my father gifted to her. I don’t wear her tiaras, they are kept in the bank safety deposit along with the Nabooian Crown Jewels; well, as many of those she could get out. The rest of those are with her jeweller in Paris. By the way, keep that to yourself, there’s a French government department still dedicated to getting them back.”</p><p>“There is?” muttered Rey.</p><p>“Yes, afraid so. Women wore foundation garments in those days and it’s amazing what you can stash under a longline bra and into a girdle. Not that my mother needed to wear a girdle, of course, she being slender, rather like you, dear, but the Nabooian Royal Regalia did rather defeat her, so she entrusted it to her Parisian jeweller.”</p><p>“I see,” murmured Rey, not seeing at all, but wanting to be polite.</p><p>“Sabé did her fair share, of course, and Cyril had a fortune in diamonds tucked under his hat band, men wore bowler hats then, dear, but they couldn’t risk putting him in a girdle and a longline bra was out of the question. That would have been so <i>odd</i> had he been strip searched, don’t you think? My mother lost a whole night’s worth of sleep puzzling that out.”</p><p>Rey made a sympathetic noise in her throat.</p><p>“So, here we are. Look, dear, this was given to my mother by one of her lovers, a Crown Prince, I believe, or was it a Grand Duke? I’m not sure, Cyril would know.”</p><p>Leia pulled from the pile sloughed off by Enzo - who was indulging in some self-care at the bottom of the bed, Miss Priss writhing on her back wrestling a diamond ring - a lovely diamond necklace, the stones cut round and pear shaped and the style known as maquise, set in white gold. Leia’s face was softly sentimental, she seemed changed somehow, speaking of her mother, handling jewellery once worn by that indomitable lady.</p><p>Rey’s eyes were goggling, “She had a lover?”</p><p>“Lovers, plural, actually. She told my father she would, before he took off to join Sheev Palpatine in his mad quest for world domination.”</p><p>She caught Rey’s startled glance and offered an explanation, “My father didn’t come from money, you see, and was massively over-compensating. It was the only reason my mother forgave him. Silly puss that he was, not knowing he was loved for himself alone. My mother had plenty of money for two, even before she renounced Naboo. Of course, she had a great deal more after.”</p><p>Absorbing this statement, Rey missed the shrewd flicker behind her mother-in-law’s eyes. Leia Amidala may be in the room, but Leia Organa was ready to assert herself.</p><p>“Oh,” there was really nothing more Rey could think of to say.</p><p>“Are you shocked, dear? There’s no reason to be, it was only sex, my father had all her heart, it’s just that my mother was still young and had a young woman’s needs. My father understood that, eventually, and anyway, he couldn’t complain, could he, she had told him she would?”</p><p>Rey tried to imagine Ben so complaisant. No, it wasn’t happening. Ben must not favour his grandfather.</p><p>“Anyway, I digress, come, let’s put this necklace on you. Leia rose from the bed, taking Rey’s hand and leading her to her dressing room. The lighting in this inner sanctum was ambient too, except for the mirror lit with white light to aid the flawless application of makeup.</p><p>“Sit you down, dear.”</p><p>Rey obediently parked her bottom on the chair before the mirror, helpfully lifting her hair as Leia fastened the glowing stones around her neck. It did suit her, tastefully exposed by the open neck of her soft white silk blouse. She dropped her hair and turned her head this way and that, the better to admire the lovely thing.</p><p>“He must have loved her very much, to buy her this.”</p><p>“I dare say he did, for a little while anyway, but my mother was always honest with her beaus, she hoped one day my father would come back to her. Which he did, eventually.”</p><p>Leia was making her way back to her bedroom, “Come, dear, I’ve lots more to show you.”</p><p>“What happened to Sheev Palpatine?” Rey asked, turning out the lights in the dressing room and following her. “How did Anakin get free?”</p><p>“Oh, someone cut Sheev into pieces. <i>Not</i> my father,” she added, seeing Rey’s expression, “Mama assured me it wasn’t Papa, and Sabé and Cyril swore he never left Mama’s side the night in question. I doubt they’d lie, don’t you? I mean, I know my mother paid them a wage, but smuggling jewellery rightfully hers is one thing, perjury is quite another. Don’t you think?”</p><p>Rey had lots of thoughts, recalling the very devoted look Cyril wore when he spoke of his late employer. However, she needed some alone time to sort out her thoughts so politely agreed.</p><p>Before they could resume an audit of the bestrewn bed, a soft knock came at the door.</p><p>“Mom, it’s me, Benny. Can I come in?”</p><p>Enzo was off the bed in an instant, meowing piteously before the door.</p><p>“Come in, it’s unlocked.”</p><p>The door opened and Ben stepped in, pausing only to scoop up his cat who immediately started to purr loudly. It gave Ben an opportunity to covertly scan his wife and his mother’s faces, unsure of his welcome. His eyes caught sight of the diamond necklace his wife was wearing and something like relief flashed across his face.</p><p>He was by her side in a few long strides, “You look beautiful, sweetheart. Mom may she keep it?”</p><p>“Of course, and thank you for spoiling my surprise,” Leia said dryly.</p><p>If either of them anticipated objections, the lady in question made none, she had not missed that look and was wondering at it, nibbling at her bottom lip.</p><p>“Sorry, mom,” Ben looked sheepish, “and I’m sorry for blowing up too, before.”</p><p>“Well, dear, I suppose I should be used to it by now,” his mother sounded tired, defeated even. At once, Ben put Enzo down, who disappeared through the open bedroom door, and took his mother in his arms, hugging her tightly.</p><p>“Mom, I’m sorry. I really am, for everything, for being me.”</p><p>“There’s nothing wrong with you, son, but you need to let go of the past. Mistakes were made, we let you down, I know that, but time moves forward, this looking back into the past all the time means you won’t progress. Look to Grandma Paddy, if she’d lived in the past, all those happy years with Gramps would not have happened.”</p><p>She took a deep breath, “Ben, if we upset you so much, still, maybe it’s better for you you don’t visit. We want to be part of your life, and Rey’s, and the grandkids, but if it doesn’t do you any good to see us, maybe better not.”</p><p>She was looking up at him, her eyes swimming with unshed tears, mouth turned down. If said a lot for how far he’d come, even in the brief time he’d been married to Rey, that he could take her words the way they were meant.</p><p>“Mom, I’m ...” He stopped speaking, voice suspended by tears, and hugged his mother tighter if that was possible. Rey, feeling like an intruder, retrieved Prissy and went quietly out of the room and to the guest room where they slept, turning over in her mind all she’d seen and heard. Interpreting the looks of her husband and mother-in-law.</p><p>Ben came in three quarters of an hour later eyes red-rimmed, lips still inclined to tremble. She stood and immediately put herself into his arms, where he tucked her under his chin, breathing deeply so as not to cry further, resting his own chin on top of her hair.</p><p>When he was breathing normally, beginning to pepper kisses onto her hair, she turned her face up and looked into his.</p><p>“Ben,” she began without preamble, “does it bother you I won’t take your money?”</p><p>He hesitated to reply which, she thought wryly, was an answer in itself.</p><p>“Yes,” he got out eventually, “it bothers me. Rey, if I died tomorrow you would be a very rich woman, but I can’t tell you how rich or what responsibilities come with it, because you close off and go sell the dress I wanted you to keep forever, or do something like it. I should have bought the clothes you are wearing today, but you go all stubborn on me and won’t believe it doesn’t matter if I do. Rey, you give of yourself every day, but you won’t gift me the same privilege. Be gracious, sweetheart. Please.”</p><p>She was nodding, “That’s what I figured.”</p><p>Beyond that, there was nothing else said and he held back from saying more, seeing her so absorbed with her thoughts.</p><p>The rest of the short visit passed without incident and they parted on good terms, though conscious the wound of Ben’s past had been opened up and exposed to all sides. </p><p>Enzo had been conspicuous by his absence all this while, having discovered Han’s bolt hole, which was very much to his taste with comfortable chairs and a real fire; though his favourite spot was draped over Han’s chest.</p><p>Han liked to talk and Enzo liked to talk and listen, share guys together moments, like with Ben. Han’s aura was good, too. Like Rose, Han would always have Enzo’s six, and now Enzo would have Han’s too. This was realised quicker than anyone anticipated, Han and Enzo not excepted. In fact less than a month away.</p><p>Han handed Enzo over stood on the house porch, with a mumbled, “This belongs to you son.”</p><p>Ben took Enzo and tucked him under his arm. A brief hesitation, then he surged forward and gave his dad a one armed hug, muttering, “Love you, Pops.”</p><p>A brief smile lit Han’s face, transforming it, “Love you too, son.”</p><p>They departed then, Rey exchanging hugs with them both, flashing her bright smile and bestowing kisses. They would all meet up for Christmas at the Solo cabin in the north, it was agreed. A family party, but they would entertain. Ben gave willing consent to this arrangement.</p><p>Shortly after returning home, Rey bought one of her winter coats, costing nearly 3,000 dollars, from the new season Burberry range. She charged it to her Amex.</p><p>At the same time she bought some very nice (expensive) lingerie, high heels and stockings, all charged to her Amex. She wore the whole outfit for Ben’s eyes only; wearing the diamond necklace.</p><p>The clothing he discarded in short order.</p><p>The necklace stayed on.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. That Darn Cat</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Enzo loved heat. Occasionally Ben and Rey took a bath together, and one of his favourite fun things to do was to try catch the waves as they surged up the sides of the tub, he sitting primly by the taps. He had to be careful not to overreach, though, being bathed was <i>not</i> one of his favourite fun things.</p>
<p>So absorbed would he be that he forgot to put himself into a meditative state, but hardly tuned in at all to the <i>activity</i> taking place the other end of the tub - the cause of the wave surges. It was with fascination, too, he watched the water swirl down the plug hole, his jaws working spasmodically uttering a little ‘ah-ah-ah-ah’ sounds. The last of the water gone, he would leap gracefully down and sit in the tub until it cooled and the warmth around him receded. Then it was time to find his humans and have lots of tickle-belly and fusskins before bedtime.</p>
<p>Rey too knew of his love of warmth, and in the short while between Thanksgiving and Christmas bought him a padded outdoor coat and a sweater, and a yellow shower coat just in case. She did the same for Miss Priss and Miss Purdy.</p>
<p>Miss Purdy was the second of his daughters to be adopted by Ben and Rey. She was a little too much like her father and it wouldn’t do to make her an apartment cat, or if she was to provide her with a companion. In this case Miss Priss. Miss Purdy was intended for Han and Leia, but Ben said they’d see how that went. Ben was a pushover sometimes.</p>
<p>His third daughter was most like her mother in her nature, and anyway her markings were so lovely Armie wanted to keep her because she showed off his mother’s antique furniture so beautifully. There was no question that Millicent would part with her son.</p>
<p>The quickest way to The Cabin from home was to fly, and Ben intended to do just that. The two girls were given a mild sedative before the flight, safely ensconced in a carrier curled up together. Enzo would sit on Rey’s knee. This was because it was best for Enzo to have something to absorb his attention; indeed, he needed constant stimulus, and this had been the root cause of his behavioural problems in his last but one home - boredom made him naughty and destructive.</p>
<p>He was walked to the plane perched on Ben’s shoulder, his leash looped around Ben’s hand just in case. It wasn’t necessary, he was fascinated by the whole thing, the hustle and bustle around the plane, the noise and movement as people made their report to Ben. He knew this wasn’t a work thing, something momentous was going to happen.</p>
<p>The something momentous was sitting in the cockpit of a Piper Saratoga on Rey’s knee, Rey strapped into the co-pilot’s seat. The whole hour and a bit of the journey he watched Ben’s hands move over the instrument panel, watched every light as it blinked or flashed, listened in on every exchange between Ben and air traffic control.</p>
<p>It was such his most favourite thing in all the world, ever, he pleaded with Ben for them to do it all again, only quieting when he saw his best buddy Han.</p>
<p>“Hello, little buddy,” Han drawled in his gravelly voice, “you a pilot now?”</p>
<p>That was all Enzo needed to recount in minute detail every second of the journey, only taking breaks when Han hugged Rey, hesitating before shaking hands with Ben, uttering a tentative, “Hello, son.”</p>
<p>Rey was not happy, shooting Ben such a look it’s a wonder Ben didn’t wither on the spot. Ben went to say something but Han was already on his way back to the truck, one of their suitcases in his hand.</p>
<p>Han drove, Enzo perched on his knee, front paws on the steering wheel above Han’s lap, staring out the windshield as the self-designated navigator. Rey had raised a couple of objections, but Han just caught her eye in the rear view mirror and urged her to, “Relax, sweetheart, I’ve got this.”</p>
<p>Enzo turned his face to Ben, sitting in the front passenger seat arms folded across his chest hating being driven by anyone but Rey, and grinned at him. Ben just stared ahead, mouth set in a grim line.</p>
<p>Han’s style of driving suited Enzo like a dream, being principally brakes-gas-brakes-gas, powering through the gear changes, the Falcon roaring in a way that was almost catlike. Enzo felt he had ascended.</p>
<p>All too soon they were at The Cabin, which led to a little kerfuffle from Rey as she thought they were staying at <i>the cabin</i>, something small and cozy, which The Cabin was not. You might say The Cabin was palatial. You would not be wrong.</p>
<p>Han laughed his gravelly laugh, telling Rey to relax. “This is Amidala money on ostentatious display now, Rey, just go with it.” You see this was one of the reasons Han was such a perfect buddy for Enzo, they both took life one day at a time. What was the future after all? Just a series of ulcers if you stressed about it. Yeah.</p>
<p>The Princess was pleased to see him, and Maz too, whose brief acquaintance he had made Thanksgiving. Maz was there in a semi-official capacity; to stop the Princess running amok in the kitchen and to visit her boyfriend, Chewie, he being a permanent resident at The Cabin as caretaker and part-time pilot for hire, operating out of the small airstrip they had just landed at. Chewie was a long-time friend of Han, Enzo could see by their auras that they loved one another.</p>
<p>Chewie loved Ben, too. That much was evident. Pulling him into a bear hug before ruffling his hair and calling him ‘kid’. Ben went all sheepish then, smiling shyly up at his adopted uncle, for Chewie was taller than Ben and as broad. Ben loved his ‘Uncle Chewie’. That’s what he called him all the time, ‘Uncle Chewie’, right through the holiday, his voice sounding younger somehow like he was reverting to happier days.</p>
<p>The big man hugged Rey, too, she almost disappearing from view in his arms. Chewie liked giving hugs, he gave them all the time, and Uncle Lando when he visited. Han liked giving hugs, and it seemed to Enzo that Han would love to hug Ben all the time, but he didn’t. He wanted to, but something always seemed to stop him.</p>
<p>Chewie liked Enzo and, cradled in Chewie’s arms, Enzo heard a rumble from Chewie’s chest that rivalled Ben’s and caused him to let go his deepest purrs. This was going to be a great holiday.</p>
<p>The two little misses were taken from their carrier, a little groggy and a little overwhelmed. Miss Purdy was handed over, the ribbon Rey had tied so beautifully to her harness a bit crumpled, but Enzo could see from Ben’s posture that he wanted Miss Purdy to come home with them. Ben loved being draped in cat, forced to tickle under chins and behind ears to get some peace and quiet. Holding them to his cheek and rubbing his face against their fur. Ben was such a pushover sometimes.</p>
<p>Although The Cabin was state of the art modernity inside, while still being styled with cozy-hark-back-to-the-past decor, the land outside had been left in its natural, authentic state. Just past the essential domestic requirements, the land fell away in a meadow to the distant forest. You could see the next cabin over, but really you were not crowded here like in the city. No sir, Calrissian-Amidala money had seen to that.</p>
<p>The meadow around them was mown, but in the summer the grass was allowed to grow high, filled with wildflowers, for the Princess had an interest in conservation. In the summer Chewie would mow paths through it, mowing a wide circle that you had to follow a twisting path to find. A place where picnics would take place, and the picnickers could be pounced upon by fierce Bengali and Bengali/British Shorthairs who fled into the long grass before retribution could be visited on them. Crouching down hidden,  with tails lashing, until their prey had once more settled before being pounced on again, the cats running at the diners crabwise with tails fluffed up and chirruping aggressively.</p>
<p>About a quarter way between the forest and The Cabin, was a lean-to, a shed, the wooden walls aged to grey with blackened wooden shingles. It was kept just the right side of decay to be picturesque, for the folks who occupied the other cabins on high days and holidays had exacting standards - and as much money, maybe more even, as the Princess, and could make a fuss if the aesthetic of the place was spoiled. Ben scoffed and called them all out as rich, entitled assholes, and that he would sell the place if it was his. It did become his, one day, but he never sold it, and neither did his children. Happy memories are a lovesome thing.</p>
<p>Ostensibly, it was a wood store, a place where fresh cut logs could be stored until they’d aged enough to burn. In reality it was a place for Han to go potter, there not being a garage at The Cabin, just a small open-fronted barn-like building with carved green oak beams to park the cars under. He had a comfy chair there and would sit, wrapped up against the chill, drinking coffee from his insulated mug and chatting to Enzo, knowing Enzo loved to talk.</p>
<p>The weather was chilly, but as yet with no frost or snow. This day they had weak winter sun to take the chill off and Enzo had escaped his padded coat, he and Han both being fleet of foot and hating fuss. Han was talking with sadness lacing his voice. There had been <i>an incident</i> that morning - with Ben. Ben who seemed to have barely suppressed rage toward his father, and a hair-trigger where the past was concerned.</p>
<p>“You see,” Han confided, Enzo seated on his chest listening carefully, one of Han’s large hands carding idly through his fur, “you meet a girl and you fall in love - and, boy, did I fall hard for the princess - and it’s just a natural progression that you marry and have a kid. Well, we did it the other way around, we conceived the kid and then got married. Young folks today are so much better at being responsible, they figure things out before they dive right in.”</p>
<p>Under Han’s hand, Enzo gave a sympathetic purr.</p>
<p>“Not that we thought we were being irresponsible, mind you, we just never thought of it at all. She was so lovely, still is, and I just had to catch sight of her and I dove right in. Not a second thought. Whatever she dished out, or didn’t, was fine by me. It’s funny,” Han mused, “her mother being the way she was, Padmé didn’t give her The Talk. Maybe she wanted to preserve her innocence, the late queen was protective of her children, the both of them, though Luke always favoured his father, which is ironic really, because if Padmé hadn’t hid them, who knows what use Sheev Palpatine would’ve made of them.”</p>
<p>Han was scratting that hard to get to bit behind Enzo’s ear, who turned up the volume with the purring.</p>
<p>“You’d have liked Padmé,” he informed the blissed out Enzo, “she was a <i>dame</i>. Of course people don’t use that expression nowadays, but she was. Dump her in the middle of nowhere without a penny to her name and she’d buy the town within a month and have the head honcho in her thrall while keeping her bankroll in her stocking tops, all the while looking like the first strong breeze would blow her away.”</p>
<p>Han chuckled, “Folks always reckoned Anakin was the big bad, and I guess he was, but Padmé, Padmé could take him down while she fixed her hair. Yup, she was a dame who could get you into a lot of trouble, but it would be worth it, every second. That Anakin,” Han huffed as he pulled on old memories, “he wasn’t so tough after all, but she was, right to the very end.”</p>
<p>They paused, listening to nothing in particular, there being nothing in particular to listen to out here. All the hustle and bustle was in The Cabin where Leia was fussing up a storm, there being guests expected later, and Ben was being put in the corner by Rey, no mercy shown, who didn’t like the way he spoke to Han <i>at all</i>.</p>
<p>“I came out of combat,” Han started up abruptly, “and went into test, but I was offered a place in the space program and just dove right in. Again, never thinking about being married now and having a kid. Chewie tried to tell me, more than once, what was happening with Ben, but by the time I was all growed up and ready to listen it was too late and the damage was done.”</p>
<p>Han heaved a heavy sigh, “Those things the kid said this morning, I can’t deny them you know. They’re true, every one of them, I was too focused on my career, I should have stepped back when the princess went into politics, stayed at home and brought up my kid properly - but I didn’t, and now my kid hates me, and so he should.”</p>
<p>Han’s voice thickened and faded away. They stayed still for minutes together, the man staring into the middle distance, seeing nothing but the scenes playing out in his mind. Emotionally brutal scenes, with recriminations aplenty, leaving behind a deep abiding guilt.</p>
<p>“Hey, little buddy, guess we’d better go back.” Han’s voice was full of forced jollity, “guess the princess will want some errands run. How about it, eh, a trip into town? Boy, will they love you. Such a handsome fella.”</p>
<p>Enzo couldn’t disagree, but was distracted by a movement in the corner, Han stretching out his body, joints popping. Rey was not a good hunter, in spite of many attempts to cajole her. Ben was, always thanking him for his gifts, sending him happily away to catch more mice. Rey now, Rey was worrying him.</p>
<p>No matter how many mice he brought her, or a wriggly worm, or a piece of stale bagel he had found, Rey didn’t respond well, throwing them straight into the waste basket much to his distress, and not letting him retrieve his gift of food.</p>
<p>Once she’d even screamed, calling for Ben as one of the mice revived in her hand and scampered away as she dropped it. He’d soon rectified that situation, but then Rey screamed some more, standing on her desk and shouting louder for Ben, calling him, Enzo, a <i>bad cat</i>. How was it bad trying to learn your human how to hunt? Ok, Ben had got it, Rey was still a work on.</p>
<p>Han walked through the open door, still talking to a distracted Enzo, and then his voice just stopped, a fact Enzo was oblivious of until a strong odour permeated the small hut. It was an odour of pine needles and leaf mould, of earth and dark places. It was dangerous too, with dark instincts. Enzo’s head came up, testing the air. He scented Han too, and Han’s scent told him he was afraid. Enzo headed for the door.</p>
<p>A creature, a creature with a dark pelt, was sniffing at Han, who was stood rigid and still. The creature kept putting a paw out and touching Han’s leg periodically between sniffs. Han’s leg bent at the knee but he stayed upright. The creature’s dark mood was growing.</p>
<p>Enzo did not hesitate, with a blood-curdling yowl he attacked, fur stood on end increasing his size exponentially, body and tail hooked high. He made the first pass, running in crabwise, spitting furiously. The creature backed away from Han, but only by a few paces. Enzo went in again, interspersing yowls of pure rage between the spitting and hissing. This creature was going down.</p>
<p>There was no need for a third pass and the necessity of kitty claws buried deep into the creature’s long snout. No need for lightning fast ripping by sharp, unsheathed kitty claws across its eyes. It turned and ran, heading for the forest at a shambling run. Enzo watched it go, eyes wide and head craning forward as he crouched tail lashing furiously, telegraphing rage and deadly intent to whomever might wish to harm any of his humans.</p>
<p>“Hey, little buddy,” Han’s voice was shaky but warm with affection, “looks like I got me a second wingman. As good as Chewie, too.” He bent and picked Enzo up, smoothing down his coat and murmuring soothing words. Enzo began to deflate, starting up with the purring.</p>
<p>“Dad, dad,” it was Ben’s voice, a terrified note colouring it. Ben was upon them, his arms going around his dad, who had Enzo clutched to his chest.</p>
<p>“Dad, dad, I’m sorry. I don’t hate you, I never have. I tried to but I just couldn’t. I love you dad, I just couldn’t say it. I’m sorry.” Ben was openly weeping now, words tumbling out one after the other, his head now on Han’s shoulder. Han would have patted his son’s back comfortingly, but his arms were pinned across his chest holding a kitty against him.</p>
<p>“It’s alright, son, it’s alright,” Han’s voice sounded teary too.</p>
<p>A second pair of arms enfolded father and son. Chewie was there, holding them both, cursing Han for always putting himself in danger.</p>
<p>“Hey, all I did was go for a walk,” protested Han. “Of course, if it hadn’t been for my little buddy here ...” The three big men drew back, Ben wiping his eyes and nose with the sleeves of his cashmere sweater. “Enzo,” gasped out Ben, “that’s a salmon  and caviar lunch for you today.” Enzo purred appreciatively.</p>
<p>Chewie reached over, taking Enzo from Han, who stood awkwardly rubbing his hands against his jeans nervously. “Dad,” Ben uttered the word brokenly, standing before his father, head down.</p>
<p>Han reached out and cupped his son’s face and kissed his forehead. “Come on, son, let’s go calm these women down,” for Rey and Leia were standing on the back porch visibly upset, Miss Priss and Miss Purdy crouched at their feet, disorientated by the huge vista before them.</p>
<p>Father and son linked their arms around each other’s shoulders, bodies leaning into each other as they walked back to the house, heads together.</p>
<p>Maz came into view then, carrying a high powered rifle which she slung over her shoulder as she and Chewie moved off. Enzo was guessing she knew how to use it.</p>
<p>“Most remarkable thing I ever saw,” remarked Maz, “who would have thought an itty bitty kitty could have seen off a bear.”</p>
<p>“When that kitty’s called Enzo, I guess anything’s possible,” rumbled Chewie. The vibration transmitted via his chest to Enzo kickstarting Enzo’s purr. “I’ve a mind to get me a kitty just like him.” Which he did, taking ownership of Miss Purdy, who proved to be her father’s daughter, though never called upon to scare a bear. There were many things Ben was capable of, saying no to his Uncle Chewie wasn’t one of them.</p>
<p>They stayed long past their projected date for returning to the city, which had been predicated on the minimum amount of time Ben could tolerate his parents, staying well into the New Year. A heavy fall of snow was given as the reason, but not really.</p>
<p>Enzo was the hero of the hour and got himself into the local paper, a professional photographer sent over specially. He was photographed in the Princess’s arms in her kitchen, standing next to a plate of Christmas cookies which she may have <i>implied</i> were home baked by herself. In fact it was mentioned specifically in the accompanying write up that the Senator was a keen amateur cook and baker. Being born into such an extraordinary family, Leia cultivated a public persona of <i>ordinariness</i> to great effect.</p>
<p>The story was picked up by the nationals and then went viral. Ben’s frown returned but the heavy snowfall deterred all but the most foolhardy, the Princess ended up doing a one time interview on the front porch of The Cabin before security locked it down, Enzo in her arms pawing at that gold charm bracelet, oblivious to the film crews and journalists crowded before his paws.</p>
<p>“Who’s cat is it anyway,” grumbled Ben, but stayed quiet so as not to disturb the peace.</p>
<p>There were more family gatherings after that, whenever and wherever they could fit them in.</p>
<p>Of course, it was too much to expect everything henceforth would be sunshine and kittens ... if only! The memories of the errors and omissions of the past raised their ugly heads from time to time, but Ben on these occasions, encouraged by Rey, revived that feeling of relief, of lightness, he’d felt <i>that day</i> when he’d let resentment go and embraced forgiveness.</p>
<p>Anyway, the tables were soon turned with the birth of a sensitive boy and a girl just as headstrong and naughty as she could be. Ben realised that childcare was not as linear as he had once supposed it. With this acquired knowledge, and at the cost of quite a few grey hairs, they made it through to the other side, as a family. Who could wish for more than that?</p>
<p>And Enzo? Well, he was right there in the middle of it all. Sleeping under the hand of a boy afflicted in his early years by night terrors, his purr a soothing constant keeping all dark imaginings at bay.</p>
<p>Offering too, unconditional love to a little miss sent to her room for stamping her tiny foot at both her parents, lips pouting and a defiant “I shan’t,” the last words she uttered to her shattered parents as she stomped away.</p>
<p>With the power of his purr and a lot of head butting, he brought about tears of contrition and reconciliation.</p>
<p>It is a truth self-evident, cats make things better.</p>
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